


The Sugar Daddy

by mhunter10



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Blow Jobs, Butt Plugs, Explicit Sexual Content, First Dates, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, Masturbation, Millionaire Ian, Past Relationship(s), Presents, Riding, Semi-Public Sex, Sexual Content, Shopping, Smut, Sugar Baby, Sugar Daddy, Sugar daddy ian, Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-16
Updated: 2018-03-22
Packaged: 2018-09-24 23:08:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 48,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9791225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mhunter10/pseuds/mhunter10
Summary: Exactly what the title says.





	1. Baby Steps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If anyone asked Mickey if he was meeting a guy he met on a website for people with money looking for people to spend it on, the answer was a big fucking no.

“G-Gallagher?” Mickey stuttered, scratching at the back of his neck. He didn’t mean to make it sound like he didn’t know exactly who he was meeting, but maybe he really didn’t. The guy had responded to his message pretty quickly, something he hadn’t expected since he wasn’t sure if he was really into it. He’d made the account on a whim, although it had been his sister who’d jokingly recommended it. He never imagined anything would come of it, but now here he was at a restaurant he couldn’t pronounce the name of in the middle of the day. Once he’d got over the fact the guy wasn’t messing with him, it had been surprisingly easy to accept his invitation. Now all he needed to do was calm the fuck down and remind himself that everyone didn’t know he was meeting the guy who would potentially become his sugar daddy.

“Right this way,” the hostess smiled wide, leading him through the restaurant. They walked past tables of people all the way to the very back of the place that was somewhat separated from the rest of the patrons by large plants and those Chinese divider things. The place definitely wasn’t Asian inspired but that was the only way Mickey could describe it.

Mickey almost crashed into her when she stopped at a table half hidden by a palm tree. And suddenly there he was, the man he’d been talking to looking exactly like his picture but even better.

Ian Gallagher: millionaire philanthropist by day, sugar baby seeker by night.

He beamed when he say Mickey, immediately setting his phone down and getting up. He pulled his chair out and waited for him to sit down. He thanked the hostess by name, flashing her a smile that made her cheeks red as she ducked into the kitchen.

“Water? Juice? Champagne?” He asked, motioning to all the choices in front of them.

“Um,” Mickey cleared his throat and suddenly hated everything about himself down to the socks he was wearing. “What are you having?” What a stupid question to ask the person who was here to give him anything he wanted.

Ian just chuckled. “Mimosa.”

“I’ll have one of those.” He watched as Ian poured orange juice then champagne into a flute as clear as crystal. He looked around, shifting in his seat, trying to get comfortable and forget about the circumstances that brought him to this exact moment in his life. He quickly downed half the drink and burped. Ian laughed.

“Nervous?”

“No, what would make you think that?” Mickey deadpanned, clearly already loosening up.

Ian shrugged, a grin on his face. “It’s refreshing, actually. Usually guys know exactly what they’re doing.”

Mickey raised an eyebrow. “So you do this a lot then?” He felt his shoulders drop and knew Ian noticed by the way his smile faltered.

“I used to, at first, but that’s not really what I want now.” He looked Mickey in the eyes.

Mickey gulped the last of his drink and picked up the menu. Ian chuckled and shook his head. “What?”

“I like you, Mickey. You’re different.”

“How do you know? Maybe I want fucking main lobster for lunch.” He didn’t know why he was being so defensive, but he didn’t like people making guesses about him. Just because he wasn’t the one giving in this thing, didn’t mean he was going to let anyone treat him like he was some helpless nothing.

But Ian didn’t miss a beat. “Do you?”

Mickey was taken aback, already writing off this date in his head. Most people with money were pretentious jerks whether they knew it or not. It was only a matter of time before Ian showed his true side, just like everyone else in Mickey’s life. Fuck him for thinking it would be different this time. But the way Ian was looking at him seriously now, completely ready to take his answer and act on it. Maybe he could be an exception to the rule. Mickey swallowed, biting his lip. He didn’t even like lobster, but just the idea that Ian would get it for him if he asked made him feel something in his chest…and in his pants.

He sighed. “No, man.”

Ian nodded, sipping his drink. “What do you want then?”

Mickey licked his lips, watching the man across from him. He was definitely handsome. His hair was fixed, clean shave, suit pressed and probably more expensive than Mickey’s entire rent. He was young, but he carried himself like he was older. His body definitely helped, judging by the way his clothes fit snugly over his muscles. He was tall too. In other words, what Mickey wanted was definitely Ian. And the money…well...something told him he’d get used to it with regular orgasms. God, he hoped the sex was good or it was a wrap. Rather than say he wanted to see how much heat he was packing, he kept quiet and looked at the menu for the first thing he saw.

“Turkey club,” he said.

“Bacon?”

“Course.”

“Fries?”

“I’m not a barbarian. Of course,” Mickey couldn’t help but smile inwardly when Ian laughed.

“Good choice.” Ian made a motion with his hand and suddenly a waiter appeared next to the table. “I’ll have the vegetable gnocchi, extra vegetables and grilled chicken on the side. And he’ll—“

“Order for himself because he’s not a fucking baby,” Mickey gave him a look and was almost proud of the way Ian conceded guiltily. “Turkey club on white, bacon, tomato, all that shit. Fries on the side.” Ian rolled his eyes, and Mickey smiled smugly.

“That’ll be it. Thanks, Chase.”

“Yes, Mr. Gallagher.” He removed their empty glasses and pitchers from the table then disappeared as quickly as he’d come.

“Forgive me, Mickey,” Ian said sincerely, reaching out to briefly touch Mickey’s hand on the table.

Mickey nodded after a beat, not meaning to make Ian feel bad. He’d just wanted to make a point before Ian got any ideas about how all of this was going to go. He could probably find a nicer way of doing it, though.

“S’okay.” Ian smiled and leaned away too soon. Mickey had just been noticing all the different shades of green in his eyes, and the freckles on his face from being able to travel to where the sun was year round. There had been a spark when their skin touched, and Mickey wanted to feel that again.

After that they talked, easily transitioning from one conversation to the next. Ian had amazing stories, but he listened to Mickey’s like they were comparable. They laughed, teasing each other. Mickey found himself flirting and Ian flirted right back. When their food came, they ate, enjoying the silence filled with gazing at each other. And maybe it felt really nice to have Ian feed him some of his food right from his fork, and even nicer when his eyes were focused on his lips.

Ian Gallagher was definitely not an asshole.

When they were finished, he handed Chase a solid metal credit card before the bill even hit the table. It made Mickey’s dick hard unexpectedly, and he was glad he was sitting down. Ian signed the check, keeping his eyes on Mickey like he knew exactly what it was doing to him. Mickey adjusted himself under the table and felt his empty wallet to sober himself. Ian then produced a small bag from somewhere and set it in front of Mickey.

“What’s this?”

Ian grinned, although he looked slightly nervous. He straightened his jacket and fiddled with his watch. It was the only thing on him that didn’t look like it cost a fortune and Mickey wondered what that was about. But right now Ian was gesturing for him to open it, so he did.

“Chocolate?”

“From South Africa. Supposed to be the sweetest and you said you like sweet things on your profile, so…” he shrugged, blushing a bit.

Mickey hadn’t even remembered typing that. It was just a throwaway fact because he was terrible when it came to talking about himself. The chocolate smelled amazing. It made his mouth water.

“You don’t have to, like, eat it in front of me or…” he trailed off, laughing.

Mickey rolled his eyes. “Wasn’t gonna.” He put it back in the bag and set it aside. “Thank you,” he said quietly, though. Ian nodded then checked the time.

“Unfortunately I have to get on a plane in half an hour,” Ian explained, looking genuinely upset about it. 

Mickey’s heart skipped. He felt panic rise in him. “Where are you going?”

As if he could sense this, Ian reached for his hand again. “London, but only for two days,” he assured.

Mickey’s weird fear eased a little with Ian’s hand warm against his. “Going to see the queen?” he joked weakly.

Ian chuckled, “I’m not nearly that rich or important enough.”

Mickey snorted, feeling a bit better. He didn’t know why he’d reacted that way. Or maybe he did.

“I’ll be back before you know it, Mickey. Especially since I’ll be coming back to you?”

Mickey nodded. “Of course.”

Ian perked up, smiling wider. “And then maybe I’ll take you next time.”

“Don’t push it.”

Ian laughed, holding his hands up. “Got it. Sorry. Baby steps.”

“Baby steps,” Mickey agreed.

Ian got up and pulled his chair out, taking his hand to help him up and not letting go. Mickey didn’t want him to. He began to lead them towards the kitchen.

“Door’s this way,” Mickey hesitated.

“But my car is this way. C’mon, I’ll give you a ride.” He led them back down a side hallway and out a door to a private lot. A black truck with dark windows stood waiting for them. The driver opened the door and closed it behind them. Mickey slid across the leather and wanted Ian to give him a ride in other ways.

“Fuck, Ian,” he let out and it sounded like a needy whimper. It was overwhelming. They drove through the city until they reached almost the edge of it, turning down ghetto streets that Mickey had long since stopped being ashamed of no matter what. And Ian’s thumb caressing his hand was doing wonders for his latent embarrassment for where he lived. It was what he could afford and it was home. The truck stopped right out front, but he found he didn’t want to get out for other reasons. But the driver was opening his door and Ian was sliding out with him and walking him up the crumbling steps that had blood on them a few weeks ago.

“I need to go, but I’m glad you came, Mickey. “

“Me too. Thanks for…everything, and um…have fun on your trip.”

“Thanks,” Ian smiled. They just stood there staring at each other.

“Mr. Gallagher?” The driver spoke up, looking out for his boss’ schedule rather than his love life.

Ian sighed.

“Don’t miss your flight over me,” Mickey teased.

“I won’t. They can’t leave without me.”

It only took three more seconds for Mickey to realize “a plane” meant “his plane”.

“Fucking kiss me,” he blurted out, not even caring that they had an audience.

Ian looked taken aback then amused then serious, as he pulled Mickey to him by his face. He kissed him just hard enough to send another jolt to Mickey’s dick. When they pulled apart they both had dopey smiles on their faces.

“Mr. Gallagher,”

Ian made an exasperated noise. “Yeah, yeah okay. I’m coming, thanks, Kev.”

“Go,” Mickey said. 

“I like you, Mickey,” Ian grinned, heading down the steps and hurrying to his ride. “I’ll call you.”

Mickey waved as the truck pulled off. He entered his shitty apartment and climbed the piss-smelling stairs. He closed and locked the door behind him. It was going on four. He had the rest of the day to think about the date and how much he already missed Ian.

Ian Gallagher: millionaire philanthropist and now his sugar daddy.


	2. Whine and Dine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian comes back. Mickey gets everything he wants.
> 
> ~or This is the Sex Chapter

Mickey was a pussy.

Two days had felt like two years.

He sat around and did nothing but think of Ian since the moment he left. He thought about him alone in a fancy hotel where a room was a grand a night and there was a hot tub in the bathroom. Thinking about Ian naked made him touch himself like he was a teenager again. Then he thought about what exactly he may be doing that wasn’t work. Thinking about Ian having dick on every continent like Bond himself made him eat too much chocolate like he was a damn chick.

He was messed up already and it’d only been one date.

He almost cried when a robot called him asking him to pay to hear Ian’s voice.

Mickey lay sprawled out on his futon in an in between state; not quite gone but not present either. He ignored his landlord banging for the rent and ignored his neighbors banging.  
If this was what he was like after one solid meal, he wasn’t ready for anything else Ian might throw at him.

Except that he absolutely fucking was ready for all of it, right now. _Please_.

He curled onto his side, holding his stomach. As much as he wanted to say it was just his body developing diabetes, he was actually just developing feelings for Ian so strongly that he couldn’t move.

So he didn’t.

Until the third day when he rose from the dead, and literally ascended via elevator to Heaven, a lounge on the top floor of a high rise overlooking the city. And now he was seated on Ian’s right, ignoring the beautiful view in favor of Ian’s profile as he looked at the wine list. It was breathtaking. Ian’s hand was resting firmly on his thigh and Mickey wanted to whine, it was so close to his dick.

“Red or white?” Ian asked, looking to Mickey and smiling.

“Huh?” Was all Mickey could say. It was like he heard what the man said, but got distracted by how his mouth looked when he said it. Ian chuckled, squeezing his thigh, and Mickey felt that needy pull he’d been feeling since Ian had finally called him from outside his apartment at ten thirty at night. 

“Are you sure you’re okay, Mickey? I can take you home and we can do this tomorrow.” He looked at Mickey with concern on his face, searching for any signs that he was tired and hated him; which couldn’t be further from the truth.

Okay, well, Mickey was a little sleepy. Doing nothing is exhausting. But he wasn’t going to turn down the chance to have what he’d been fantasizing about in real life. And fuck if Ian didn’t sound cute on the phone yammering animatedly about being reverse jetlagged or whatever. If the guy needed help staying up to fix his sleep schedule, who was Mickey not to help in every possible way and position?

Mickey leaned closer even though they could hear over the piano being played in the background. He fingered the old watch on Ian’s wrist. “It’s tomorrow in, like, four minutes, man,” he informed him.

Ian rolled his eyes. “Well if I take you to Australia right now, it’s yesterday,” he grinned smugly.

Mickey was sure Ian was beginning to realize what it did to him when he talked about the things he could do with his money. The slightest hint of Ian’s financial power had Mickey’s brain to mouth filter completely shattered, and he didn’t care one bit.

“There’s only one thing I’m going down under for tonight,” he said, not breaking eye contact with the redhead.

And Ian flushed red, subconsciously licking his lips and gripping Mickey’s thigh tighter for a second. He kissed him and Mickey fucking purred. They kept kissing, taking full advantage of the privacy of their booth in the ambient lighting. Ian slides his other hand up Mickey’s neck to the back of his head, pulling him deeper into the kiss and deeper down the rabbit hole. It was scary how much Mickey wanted Ian…needed him. And it wasn’t just because he was in debt up to his eyes and was a pubic hair away from being homeless. Those things were facts of life. If it had been anyone else, they would’ve crumbled under the stress a long time ago. He’d been shy of rock-bottom plenty of times; enough to finally say enough. But finding someone who made him feel like that shit didn’t matter? Like he would never have to worry about a single thing again, money or not? That shit was rare. Ian was rare.

The steak the waiter was setting on the table was rare, too. Just like Mickey liked it: big and pink and juicy and filling him up.

Fuck. He hadn’t even seen steak on the menu, but Ian had made it happen because he said he wanted it. Just because he said one thing. Now it was in front of him and he didn’t want to pull away from the man who could perform miracles. Then red wine appeared in place of their waters. Mickey made a noise he wasn’t sure he’d made before.

“Eat,” Ian said into his ear, smiling happily at making Mickey happy. He kissed his neck before picking up his glass and taking a sip.

“You don’t gotta tell me twice,” Mickey laughed, suddenly hungry and excited. He cut into the meat and watched the red flood his plate and drown his whipped potatoes and grilled asparagus. “Damn, this bitch is mooing.”

Ian snorted into his drink, choking slightly. He wiped his mouth and shook his head.

“You alright there, chuckles?” Mickey asked through a mouthful of beef. He smiled around his chewing, amused.

“Fine, Mickey. How’s your food?” Ian put his arm around Mickey’s shoulder and watched him eat, eyes following every bite. His other hand found Mickey’s knee and rubbed gently.

“Mmmmh,” Mickey moaned, only half exaggerating. He could feel his dick threatening to bust through his zipper and he could’ve been chewing on gum for all his brain knew. He made the noise again, spreading his legs a little and letting his eyes close and head tip back. He then looked at Ian with an innocent smile and devious eyes. “So good, Ian.”

“Good. I’m glad.”

“Want some?” Mickey cut a piece of the meat and held it out, waving it around temptingly.

Ian shook his head, rubbing at his chin where the beginnings of scruff was coming in. Mickey had wanted feel it on his thighs since he noticed it. There was even hair poking out from his unbuttoned shirt. Mickey wanted to rub his face on it on his way down to hopefully a matching patch.

“Don’t really eat red meat. Messes with my performance.” He looked at Mickey pointedly and suddenly the food in his belly wasn’t enough to satisfy him.

Mickey nodded, biting his lip and trying to figure out how fast he could finish his food before he finished in his pants. He took several deep breaths and thought about dying cows. It was working until he thought about bulls, bull riding, bull cock, bareback, reverse cowboy…

“You’re killing me, Mickey,” Ian said normally, but then he whispered, “I’m about to break through the underside of this table.” Obviously he hadn’t heard Mickey’s train of thought….train…fuck…but the look on his face was probably enough to send the waiter running away again.

“How was London?” Mickey blurted out, shoving the rest of the potatoes into his mouth and chasing it with wine. He’d never eaten asparagus in his life and he wasn’t about to start now. Ian took care of that too, as he talked. Mickey tried his best to steer his mind away from bridges and maybe how well Ian knew Chase. He listened as Ian talked, though, because it was interesting and Ian was funny. By the time Ian finished speaking, Mickey felt like he had gone with him.

“Furthest place I’ve been is O’Hare,” Mickey joked, staring at the small tea-candles on their table.

Ian frowned. “Where do you want to go?” He said it like their may be a helicopter on the roof waiting to take them.

Mickey shrugged, listening for the sound of blades and relieved he didn’t hear any. “Never had to think about that.”

“Gotta be somewhere, right? Rome? Tokyo? Tahiti?” Ian tickled him on the last suggestion, clearly just wanting to make Mickey laugh instead of seriously decide on a dream destination.

Mickey did laugh, leaning against the other man and finishing off his wine. He tossed a few places he’d heard of around in his brain, but nothing stuck. Right now he only had one place he wanted to go.

“How about somewhere closer?” He asked quietly, looking up at Ian. Their eyes met for a moment then Ian nodded slowly, understanding him fully. He took his hand and helped him from the booth, then led him towards where they came in.

“You didn’t pay,” Mickey said stupidly, remembering how seeing that shiny card made him shiver.

Ian kept walking, stabbing at the elevator button impatiently. “I know the owner,” he explained, pulling Mickey to him inside the elevator. “And the chef.”

Mickey palmed himself, feeling his knees go weak as Ian kissed him sloppily. He whined, hoping it would be a fast trip to Ian’s because he wasn’t going to last if he said one more thing. Ian had to know what he was doing. He had to. His cocky smile gave him away, as they jumped into the black truck. As bad as Mickey felt for Kevin the driver, he didn’t feel that bad with Ian’s tongue practically down his throat. The entire ride was sweet torture. Mickey felt sure the noises he was making in the backseat would guarantee he could never look the guy in the eyes again. If you asked Mickey where they drove to, he’d have no idea. If you asked him to describe the building, you’d be shit out of luck. If you asked him just how many people witnessed Ian jerk him off in the fancy ass glass elevator on their way up to the penthouse, the answer would probably be no less than six. But Mickey had his eyes closed, as he covered Ian’s hand and his boxers in jizz, so how would he fucking know?

Mickey also couldn’t say what exactly the place looked like, because once they were inside Ian didn’t put him down until he was looking up at the mirrored ceiling above his bed. It made him laugh like a kid, then swear like an adult when he realized just how hot that was. Of course Ian could afford something he would never see when he’s sleeping, but also his bare back looked amazing. Mickey scratched his nails down it just to see the red lines in the reflection. But he made sure to focus on the Ian whose weight and dick he could feel right on top of him, grinding him into the mattress until all manner of sounds pushed out of him. It was embarrassing but so fucking good. He didn’t know when or how they’d lost their clothes. All he knew was that Ian was stacked and definitely knew how to use it.

“What do you want, Mickey? Hm? Tell me,” Ian demanded hotly into his neck between kisses. He had Mickey’s hands pinned above his head with one big strong hand, while the other stroked over his balls, perineum and hole.

Mickey squirmed under him, breathing hard and already leaking again. Ian dropped down and licked it from his stomach, asking him again what he wanted so he could give it to him. “You! You…Ian, fuck…want you!” He pleaded, hips bucking up to nothing. He whined, feeling Ian’s hands leave him.

“Shh, it’s okay,” Ian soothed, coming back and giving Mickey kisses all over his body up to his face. “I got you. Don’t worry.”

“Please, Ian,” Mickey begged. The sound of a top clicking open sent a shiver down his spine. He closed his eyes and thought of his bills piling up with urgent red lettering on them. He heard Ian’s reassuring words again and it made him feel better and want him even more. “Ian,”

Ian kissed his cheek before resting his forehead on Mickey’s shoulder. “You want me?”

Mickey nodded.

“Where?” He swiped his tongue behind Mickey’s ear and down his neck.

Mickey was biting his lip so hard to keep from coming, it brought tears to his eyes.

“Here?” Ian finally said when Mickey didn’t answer. He’d been busy with the lube but now his index finger was pressing insistently at his anus until it breached the ring of muscle.

“Oh, fuck! Ohh, Ian…fuck!” Mickey arched off the bed, gripping the sheets that felt like nothing he’d ever felt before. They were so soft and cool against his flushed skin, they had to have as many threads as zeroes in Ian’s bank account. He probably had as many dead roaches in his stank ass apartment. But he pushed that far from his mind, as Ian’s fingers pushed farther into him and began fucking him slow and steady. He grabbed Ian by his hair and kissed him hard, biting and sucking at his lips as he rode his fingers. He slid easily on the warm slick that was definitely not from a cheap packet from the drugstore. Just knowing that made it feel even better. He groaned, wanting to do this all night but wanting more.

“You want my dick in here, Mickey?” Ian asked, sucking on Mickey’s nipples and emphasizing his question by rubbing the sensitive nub of nerves inside him.

“Yes, yes! Oh my fuck, get in me! Please, fuck!” Mickey shouted, making Ian laughed and kiss him on the lips.

“Don’t gotta tell me twice,” he mocked him from before, as he grabbed a condom from the nightstand and put it on. He put the rest of the lube from his fingers on it, then moved between Mickey’s legs.

Mickey couldn’t help but grin, as he wrapped his arms around Ian. He spread his legs wider and heard Ian curse above him.

“Look at you…” he said to himself, lust written all over his face. He grabbed Mickey’s right thigh and pushed it up, exposing him more. “Holy fuck,” he breathed. He rubbed his dick up and down the crack, slapping the head against the entrance.

“Fucking jerk,” Mickey glared up at Ian, smile on his face anyway.

Ian returned the smile, leaning down and capturing his lips, as he slowly pressed himself in. “Shiiiiit.”

Mickey half giggled, half moaned. Ian hadn’t cursed around him much, but he was obviously opening up more. He’d seemed happy and relieved to see Mickey, relaxed at the lounge, animalistic on the journey, and now tender and caring as he took his time. It was nice knowing that Ian was letting Mickey see more of him. It made him want to show more of himself and get couldn’t wait to see how Ian responded.

“Look at yourself,” Ian tells him, beginning to move and roll his hips.

Mickey looks up, sees his hands on Ian’s ass as they encourage him. But then he looks at himself and he sees his face and how messed up he looks. Not bad messed up, but messed up as in he’s so far gone he almost doesn’t recognize himself. He looks fucking blissful and like he wants Ian to both fuck him and make love to him. It’s scary but he can’t look away.

“Harder,” he says, wanting to see what that looks like and feel it at the same time.

“Fuck, Mickey…so good, tight….” Ian kisses him once more before moving back on his knees. He starts fucking Mickey harder because that’s what he wants. He wants it good and hard, so Ian’s gonna give him that. “Whatever you want…”

Mickey hears a _baby_ on the end of that, but he doesn’t think about it too much. He can’t. Ian is pounding into him, but now he can see more of himself in the mirror. He can see Ian’s dick disappearing into him, and his own dick flopping against his stomach. He holds the base, afraid he’ll come if he strokes it. He’s so close, though. He’s probably going to die, he thinks. As much as he likes watching himself get destroyed, Ian is too far away and he needs him. He reaches up and Ian gets it, seems almost happy that Mickey wants him back in his arms. He obliges, crashing their mouths together. He keeps his pace despite the change in angle, and it drives Mickey insane.

“Ian, I’m gonna— Ugh!” Mickey cries out, spilling between them from the friction of Ian’s abs.

“Oh yeah, oh…yeah, yeah…..Jesus, Mickey!” Ian slams in for another solid minute or two, careful not to overstimulate him, but it’s inevitable with his big cock brushing all of his walls. But Mickey takes it so good, takes what Ian gives him and still begs for more. It’s enough to send him over, filling the condom and Mickey by proxy. He buries in deep and kisses him until they’re both spent.

“I like you, Mickey,” Ian sighs into Mickey’s chest.

Mickey chuckles, barely able to move and not just because Ian is on top of him. He holds him, though, even if there is a mess between them. His eyes feel heavy. He doesn’t know what time it is, but he knows it’s hella late. If he had a job to go to early, he might care, but he’s finding it hard to care about much else when he’s in a queen sized bed with Ian and God knows where. The main part being that he’s with Ian. He’s not alone, he’s not hungry and he’s definitely not going to be up worrying if his lights will come on or his water. He’s not thinking about anything else but the man pulling out of him and curling up behind him.

He’s safe and he can finally sleep, knowing someone cares about him.


	3. Goal Digger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian has connections which means Mickey now has connections. But work and play don't always mix.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long update :) strap in

Mickey rolled over, smiling and burying his face into the sheets. They felt so much like silk without actually being silk, that Mickey genuinely wondered what the hell the material could actually be. But like everything else in his world now, his thoughts quickly shifted back to Ian. His sugar daddy. Maybe even his everything, but that made Mickey’s heart race to think about. It was too soon, right? He was being swept up in it so fast, it was getting a bit crazy. But to slow down now when he’d never felt something like this before? To put the brakes on and risk giving Ian the wrong idea? No, he couldn’t do that. He didn’t want to.

He didn’t even want to get out of the bed. It was like sleeping on a fucking cloud surrounded by warm sun and a gentle breeze. And that smell. Fuck. Not only was it Ian and him, but it was also Ian and him together. It was intoxicating and reminded Mickey of everything that had happened the night before. He giggled sleepily, remembering how eager they were that they were practically acting like kids. He dug his face into the pillows and shuddered, almost whimpering when he recalls the slow but just as passionate second round. He’d been tired, but Ian had taken care of him; being gentle and taking his time and kissing him from head to toe. He felt himself getting hard and bit his lip. Ian had promised to give his body pleasure whenever he wanted it, as he slid in and out of him from behind. He’d tugged on his hair and gripped his hips, biting and sucking at his shoulders until he was spilling onto the sheets. He could only feel bad for a few seconds with Ian assuring him they’d get changed the next day anyway. Mickey remembers shaking his head at the idea. He didn’t care if they never changed again after what they’d done on them. And smelling them now made his whole being ache and thrum with satisfaction and need.

Mickey blindly sought out the heat of Ian’s body, wanting to rub against him and definitely turn it into more. He stretched out further, thinking he was just out of reach on the giant bed, and felt an arousing soreness in his muscles and ass. But it was cold all around him with no presence to be found. Mickey sat up and looked around the large room. There were windows on one side and a small living area set into the floor. Or maybe the bed was up on a pedestal. He certainly felt like that’s where Ian placed him last night. He could see the bathroom and a walk-in closet from where he sat in the middle of the bed, but still no Ian.

“Ian?” He called out, hoping maybe he wasn’t far. The place couldn’t be that big, could it? He didn’t know. He didn’t even know what time it was, but he guessed midday. Thinking about Ian tiring him out made him twitch under the sheets, but now he had a different need. He slid from the bed and walked across the clean white carpet to the bathroom. The lights came on by themselves and he remembers Ian telling him about all of the tree-hugger environmental shit he used. Mickey joked that if not turning on his lights or taking a shower helped the planet, he’d been ahead of the game.

He pissed, looking around at the large bathroom. Ian clearly had an obsession with mirrors and glass…or maybe an aversion to privacy. Or maybe he was just very open with the world around him. It made sense, considering what he did…which Mickey still wasn’t quite sure about, but it sounded good and lined Ian’s pockets, so maybe it was better he didn’t ask. The shower had about six heads, the tub had ten jets, there was a small sauna in the corner and Mickey was pretty sure the floor has gotten warmer since he’d been in there. The only thing that made him pause was that there were two sinks. He chose the one that didn’t have Ian’s stuff around it, and tortured himself wondering if he’d been the first to use it.

He dried his hands and grinned at the small bruises from Ian’s mouth and fingers. He touched them and decided he wouldn’t mind seeing Ian covered in marks. When he left the bathroom he wasn’t alone, but it wasn’t who he’d been expecting. 

“Jesus, fuck, man! The fuck are you doing in here?” He scrambled to find his clothes but when he didn’t see them anywhere, he tried to pull the sheets from the bed…only the bed had been made. The man didn’t seem phased, as he handed over a robe. He didn’t smile or acknowledge Mickey’s naked outburst. Mickey quickly put on the garment and crossed his arms over himself. He raised an eyebrow expectantly, waiting for an explanation. “Well?”

“You may call me Glen. I am in the service of Mr. Gallagher.”

Mickey waited for more then sighed. “And where is Ian?”

“Mr. Gallagher received a phone call and retired to his office. He requested I fetch you once you had awoken.”  
Mickey nodded, actually relieved to know Ian hadn’t left him completely. He didn’t expect the guy to let his business slip for him, but maybe he had hoped he was a little more important…or at least on his way. But then again, if he didn’t work he didn’t get money, no money and things could get complicated. As much as that thought shook him a little, his heart would shatter if Ian no longer felt he could provide for him. He didn’t want Ian to think there was only one stipulation keeping Mickey around, especially not after last night. Mickey rubbed at the back of his neck, again thinking that it might be a good idea to talk some things over. And what better way than over breakfast or lunch or whatever. He realized he was starving, but he wanted to see Ian first.

“Well, I’m awoken, so lead the way, Jarvis.”

“Ah, yes. As in Mr. Stark’s artificially intelligent companion. Haven’t heard that one before. Usually it’s Jeeves,” Glen rolled his eyes.

Mickey snorted, “Whatever, man. I can call you whatever you want, just blink twice if you’re a slave.”

Glen actually chuckled a bit, as he led them out of the room and through the penthouse. “Mr. Gallagher’s hardly a tyrant. He didn’t hire me. I offered myself to him.”

Mickey raised his eyebrow again. “Sounds gay, Jeeves,” he teased.

Glen stopped at a door and looked at him a moment before opening it. “I see why he likes you,” was all he said before turning on his heel and leaving.

Mickey didn’t know how to take that, so he entered the room. There was dark wood everywhere and leather with those little silver caps on it. The rivets or whatever. It was fucking classy. It made Mickey think of a mobster or Wall Street movie set, complete with the boss in his big chair making offers no one could refuse. Mickey certainly wouldn’t disobey Ian, but part of him wondered what punishment he would get if he did. All the conflicting emotions of the morning were getting to him and driving him crazy until Ian spotted him. A huge grin spread onto his face in place of the concentrated frown he’d had listening to whoever on the phone. He beckoned for Mickey and he damn near ran over to him like a dog. He was wearing a robe as well, but he at least had pants on. He pulled Mickey down for a kiss, and Mickey cursed himself for not brushing his teeth. He’d been too distracted with the idea of Ian’s previous lovers. He pulled away to spare him his bad breath, making him pout but then chuckle. He patted his lap for Mickey to sit down like he was a kid on Santa’s knee.

Mickey rolled his eyes but did it anyway, teasing Ian by rubbing his ass in his crotch. Ian’s breath hitched.  
Mickey shrugged with a sly grin and occupied himself with the papers strewn across the glass desk that somehow still fit with the décor. He didn’t understand most of it and some of it was definitely not English. All he could get from it was that daddy was a very important man and did important work. He laughed to himself, imagining himself ever actually calling Ian daddy. Granted he did have daddy issues, but not the kind that warranted he bestow the moniker on someone else. He wouldn’t be caught dead with anyone old enough to be his actual father. To get the idea from his mind before he threw up, he settled for listening to the conversation and trying to decipher it.

“We don’t want that. No, indeed, sir,” Ian commented, sounding less attuned to what he was hearing and more into what he was seeing. He wrapped his arm around Mickey, running his hand between his bare thighs and pressing his nose to his neck. He pulled the robe down off of one shoulder and attached his mouth to the skin. “Mhm,” he hummed into the phone.

Mickey closed his eyes, biting his lip to keep from making a sound. Ian’s fingers trailed further up his legs. The tickling and the sucking were getting to him. He inhaled and exhaled slowly, squirming in Ian’s lap. His body was confused; wanting to be good and bad at the same time. The fact Ian was definitely hard wasn’t helping at all. Thankfully the call seemed to be wrapping up.

“Yes, thank you. See you then, Mr. Blairs. Alright, goodbye.” Ian ended the call, throwing the phone onto the desk and grabbing Mickey’s face. He kissed him firmly, slipping his tongue in his mouth. Mickey moaned, grinding down onto his cock more, but Ian pulled away. “How would you like to see a game today?” He asked, smiling.

Mickey licked his swollen lips. “What game?”

“Any game you want, Mickey.”

Mickey couldn’t resist another searing kiss, raking his fingers through red hair and pulling slightly. Ian laughed but kissed him back, fully aware of the power of his words. Mickey sucked his bottom lip before letting go.

“Baseball?”

“Anything.”

“Hockey?”

Ian chuckled. “That is a game, yeah.”

“Basketball?”

Ian rolled his eyes, grinning. “Any game, Mickey.”

Mickey pretended to think, tapping his chin with his finger. “Soccer?”

Ian’s face fell flat. “No.”

Mickey paused, looking him in the eyes. Shit, he’d fucked up. He’d said something wrong and now he wasn’t getting squat. The other shoe had finally dropped and it was back to crusty sheets and cold floor. He needed to fix this. Fast. He stuttered. “Oh, I’m…I didn’t—“

Ian started laughing, kissing Mickey on the cheek. “Forgive me, Mickey. That was cruel.”

It took two seconds for Mickey to see that he was, in fact, a fucking idiot. He smacked Ian’s hands off him and stood up. “Asshole.”

Ian came over to him, wrapping his arms around him. “I’m sorry, Mickey. Yes, even soccer, although I wasn’t aware Chicago had a soccer team.”

Mickey snorted against his will. He’d been trying to be mad at the fucker but that was impossible. He looked out the window and let Ian press sorry kisses to his neck and ears. He relaxed into the warm hold.

“Did you sleep okay?” Ian asked.

“Like a fucking log.” Mickey smiled, turning in his arms and kissing him on the lips.

“Good. You hungry? Glen can make us lunch while we get ready.”

Mickey raised an eyebrow. “For what?”

Ian took his hand and led him out of the office and back to the bedroom. “I need to meet with that guy on the phone.”

Mickey nodded, instantly deflating. “Oh. Okay, let me just…I’ll get dressed and see you later then.” He looked around for his clothes and found them folded on an ottoman. They’d been washed and dried. They smelled like Ian and he felt stupid for thinking this would be an all the time sort of thing. Obviously Ian was busy. He would just have to accept that. He couldn’t avoid his shitty life forever and hide in Ian’s glass penthouse like some bitch. Ian stopped him, though, looking sad and confused.

“You don’t want to see a game?”

Now Mickey was confused. “You have to work, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

Ian shook his head. “No, Mickey. The meeting is at any game we want. That’s why I asked you. I want you to come with me.”

Mickey stood there frozen for a moment, brain trying furiously to piece together what Ian just said. “You want me to go with you?”

Ian nodded, a small smile spreading on his face. “I want you to pick whatever game you want to see, so I can tell Mr. Blairs where to meet us.”

Mickey’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh…oh! Like, closing the deal at a strip club or some shit?”

Ian chuckled, walking into the bathroom and starting the shower. He began to undress. “I tend to stay away from strip clubs, but yeah. This guy can get us in anywhere, anytime. So just tell me, okay, Mickey?”

Mickey was mesmerized by Ian’s body, so he just sort of nodded at first. Then it registered that Ian essentially said he could get them all access passes at the drop of a hat and his stomach flipped with butterflies. Ian was stood, naked and confident, in front of him telling him that all he had to do was say the word and he’d get what he wanted. And that made him want to do things to Ian. And Ian knew it.

Ian climbed into the shower and held his hand out for him. “You coming?” He raised an eyebrow and licked his lips.

“Better fucking be,” Mickey laughed, giddy as fuck. He threw his robe off and stepped in, feeling his heart speed up as Ian turned him around and held him against the wet glass. Mickey gasped, knees going weak just from that alone.

“Anything you want,” Ian said into his ear.

By the time they got out of the shower, the time for lunch had passed and it was time to head out.

Somewhere between orgasms, Mickey had chosen to see the Sox.

The ride to the stadium had been interesting. Ian was on the phone for most of it, but his hand never left Mickey's; their fingers curled tightly together. Mickey watched out the window as they went through the streets and tunnels. He was used to walking around the city. He was lucky if he found enough change to take public transportation and he hadn't driven a car since he had to sell the family car to cover his medical bills. Turns out not eating will make you weak enough to pass out in the middle of a convenient store, making you hit your head on a shelf and need stitches. Ian had asked him about the tiny white scar left behind, kissing it and making more promises that felt like bread and butter to Mickey when he told him. He looked over at him now and smiled, as they pulled into a tunnel Mickey had never seen before. It led to a garage underneath the field that clearly was for the most elite of guests, judging by the cars parked there.

"Haven't been here in a long time," Mickey said, climbing from the truck and following Ian into an elevator.

"The South Side or the stadium?" Ian asked, pressing a button that required a card be swiped first.

Mickey laughed to himself, "Both, actually. Used to sneak into games back in the day."

Ian grinned. "You were a bad boy, huh?"

Mickey pressed up against Ian, getting so close their chests touched. The elevator was still moving upward. "Still am, Gallagher."

"Is that so? Who'd you go with?"

Mickey shrugged, looking away. "Some guy I used to fuck."

"Didn't work out?"

Mickey gave him a flat look. "Obviously."

"His loss," Ian said, hugging Mickey to him and kissing his forehead.

Mickey sank into the hug, although he was thinking about what Ian meant by that. How could it be anyone's loss to leave him? He liked to think he'd changed a little since he was a teenager, but back then he hardly had anything substantial to offer besides his body...sometimes his mouth. But nothing real or anything because he couldn't. Not with his father around, not even with just himself around. He wasn't used to all that caring and shit, so why expect it? A person was lucky to get away from him after the first time he hit them. He wasn't proud of it, but it'd been necessary. And maybe nobody was willing to understand that enough to stick around, but he never blamed them for wanting nothing to do with him. And here Ian was, suggesting that anyone that didn't have him had majorly screwed up in some way.

Surprisingly, the elevator was still making its climb up to wherever they were going. Mickey wanted to change the subject before Ian went on making any more false claims. He slid from his arms and examined the doors like they somehow had the answer.

"Where the fuck are our seats exactly?" He raised an eyebrow, turning to look at Ian who looked like he was deep in thought all of a sudden.

Ian looked up at him slowly, smiling though it didn't reach his eyes. He noticed Mickey had noticed his weird moment, so he leaned off the elevator wall and stood beside him just as it stopped moving. "Club box." He grinned, taking Mickey's hand briefly before stepping out of the doors.

Mickey followed him, speechless but excited as always. They walked down a long carpeted hallway that had large windows facing out towards the city. There were other closed doors on the other side, but they entered the one with a big guy standing outside looking ready to kick ass and take names. Mickey eyed him, as he passed.

"What does this guy need Kong out there for?" He whispered.

Ian snorted, shaking his head. "That's just Earl. If you saw him with his two boys, you wouldn't be scared of him at all."

"I wasn't scared," Mickey protested, but Ian had moved forward to shake hands with a man he assumed to be Mr. Blairs.

"Ian! Good to see you, kid. How are ya? Great choice! I've got money on the Dodgers, but don't tell anyone I told you!" Mr. Blairs boomed, laughing loudly and shaking Ian's hand vigorously. He was red-faced and had the body of a man who could afford to eat all the stadium food he wanted, by the looks of it.

Mickey stood off to the side quietly observing the scene unfold and not wanting to draw attention to himself. He didn't want to distract Ian, but he also wasn't sure how he should be around him. Them being alone in public wasn't really a big deal. It wasn't like Ian took Mickey places that would let in any old person off the street. But in front of people Ian knew? Mickey hadn't even met Ian's friends or anyone before right this moment. He was regretting not talking to him more and more, as he stood their awkwardly. Ian had brought him, but in what way? Was Mickey to pretend to be his friend? A business partner? A charity case? Mickey bit his lip, zoning out of the moment until he heard his name.

"You have Mickey here to thank, sir," Ian grinned, turning to Mickey then looking proud.

"Huh?" Fuck. What?

But Mickey didn't have to wonder long. The loud, boisterous man was headed straight for him, gripping his hand and damn near tugging it off. "Nice to meet ya, son. I'll only thank you if I cash in! And don't expect a dime if I do!" Another booming laugh that made Mickey recoil on instinct, watching the spit fly. He was definitely a character, but he could tell the guy was fun to be around. And Mickey was always taught to judge a guy by how he treats his friends, and judging by the amazing view and the smell of a buffet table, he treated them very well.

"Likewise, sir, but I'm here on Ian's money so don't worry," Mickey smiled, joking easily. He was apparently doing something right because Ian was beaming.

Mr. Blairs laughed, clapping Ian on the back. "Ha! I like him, Ian! Today, your wallet's no good here. C'mon, c'mon, take a seat. Grab a plate if there's anything left!" The man finally left them alone, moving on to some other guests who had just entered.

Ian guided Mickey over to the food, a hand on the small of his back. He leaned in close. "He's a trip, huh?"

Mickey nodded, not quite sure the right words to describe him. He was also faced with the dilemma of choosing between the many options in front of him. There were ribs, burgers, dogs, pizza, fries, wings, a laughable bowl of salad that looked untouched, and a full bucket of about five different craft beers Mickey hadn't even heard of. His mouth watered at the smell of it all. He was starving after the morning they'd had. He was going to eat some of everything even if it killed him. Just when he'd decided on first, a man in a waist-coat and apron brought out a steaming plate of pasta and three sauce choices. Mickey wanted to cry. There was no way he wasn't leaving looking just like the man who had provided it all.

"Who is this guy again and where do I send the fucking fruit basket," Mickey said, digging in. He made an exasperated noise. He was going to have to come back.

Ian laughed, rubbing his hand up his back before starting a plate of his own. "You think he'd eat it?" he joked, nudging Mickey's side.

Mickey smiled, loving when Ian let his hair down and let out his cheesy side. The fucker was goofy when he wanted to be, and Mickey was determined to see just how much. Ian's plate was sad compared to his, but they sat down in chairs that were not plastic and sticky or hot from the sun. The game started and they watched from the big open windows, letting in a gentle breeze and the sounds of the arena. There was a big crowd and as much as Mickey had always enjoyed being in the mob, he was enjoying not looking over his shoulder for security every ten minutes. And most of all he was enjoying being with Ian, who looked childlike as he cheered and booed. It made Mickey want to know so much more about the man sitting next to him. He didn't even notice the other people in the room. He realized he'd missed a few good plays because he'd just been looking at Ian. It was impossible not to. He looked hot in his designer business casual and crisp sneakers. Mickey felt under-dressed, but got over it when Ian commented on how his ass looked in his jeans.

Then all too soon Ian was leaving him, saying it was time to get down to business and promising it wouldn't take long. Mickey was halfway through his second plate of food, but suddenly didn't feel all that hungry anymore. He picked at it, trying to keep his eyes on the game so the time would pass faster. But every time he heard Ian's voice break through the hushed conversation, it was like he couldn't help himself from turning to find it. He missed him and he was in the same fucking room. It was pathetic for sure, but Mickey didn't care. He wanted Ian back beside him, but he would sit there like a good boy and hope he got rewarded for it later. And yeah, maybe when they finally got around to that talk he would let Ian know just how he felt about it. Or perhaps he wouldn't. He didn't know. His stomach hurt a little bit, and it wasn't all the food he ate. He sipped the water Ian left and focused on paying attention to the inning.

"Miss me, Mickey?" Ian asked, kissing his cheek, which sort of caught him off guard.

Mickey had still been wondering how the room saw him, but no one seemed to notice or even sniff at Ian's gesture.

"Well, that answers that," he muttered to himself. His eyes didn't leave the current play. He was somewhat engrossed now, but also a bit miffed.

Ian frowned, coming to sit on the window ledge in front of him. "Everything okay? I'm sorry that took longer than I wanted." And he looked genuinely sorry, taking Mickey's hand in his and kissing his knuckles.

Mickey sighed, knowing he couldn't keep it up once he saw Ian's eyes. Didn't change the fact he abandoned him, but he'd had enough time to go through the stages of grief to get right back around to Ian doing no wrong in his eyes.

“You’re blocking the game, man,” Mickey snarked with a smile. Ian immediately perked up.

“We winning?”

“Almost. One more homer and we’ve got it.”

“Damn. Blairs is gonna be mad.”

“That jolly fellow? Noo,” Mickey said sarcastically. Ian laughed, snagging his beer and finishing it. “Hey, no drinking on the job.”

Ian scoffed, “Sometimes drinking is the job. I’ll show you sometime.”

Mickey liked the sound of that. “Now we’re talking.”

The game ended. The Sox had won. Mr. Blairs even let Mickey take leftovers. He offered to take them to meet some of the players in the locker room, but Ian had appeased him by taking a rain check. Sweaty, athletic guys sounded like a great porno, but they were ready for it to just be them again. The game had run long so it was early evening when they left. The sun was slowly setting behind the skyline but Mickey only had eyes for Ian. He’d had a fun time, despite the small hiccup. Getting to experience that with Ian was amazing. Everyday with him was something new and it hadn’t been much time at all. But Mickey knew he would never change any of it. His life was better than ever now and it was all because of the man sitting beside him in the truck, hand resting possessively on his thigh.

“Do you want to stay again, Mickey?” Ian asked, turning to him.

Mickey nodded, not even needing to think about it. He had plans to show Ian just how much he appreciated everything he did for him. And those plans involved that office and breakfast in the morning. Ian seemed to approve of his answer because he grinned, leaning over to kiss him before directing Kevin to Mickey’s to get some more clothes.

Mickey stayed as quiet as possible, trying to avoid his landlord as he entered his apartment. He flipped the light switch and was met with continued darkness. He scoffed, although it wasn’t funny. He moved through the pile of mail that had been slid under the door and over to the corner where his broken dresser stood vomiting clothes. In the remaining light of the day, he found a backpack and stuffed a few extra pairs of underwear and shirts inside it. He snatched up some black jeans and did a sniff test on them, not remembering the last time he set foot into a laundromat. They were fine enough so he crammed those in too along with some more socks. He didn’t bother with toiletries since Ian had basically said what was his was now Mickey’s. He took a last look around but couldn’t imagine he would need any of the other odd crap lying around, so he grabbed a few of the bills and left, promising he would try to sort something out. He liked his little place, as much of a dump as it was. It was his space to be himself with no one hanging over him or threatening him. He didn’t want to lose it because he’d gotten distracted by shit that could all be gone instantly. He was a Milkovich after all. He refused to include Ian as one of the things that could easily disappear. He wasn’t ready for that reality yet.

Ian looked happy to see him when he returned to the truck and that was all that mattered right now.

Mickey paid more attention on the drive to Ian’s this time. The building was one he’d passed before but never really noticed. The lobby was as he remembered it, as well as, the infamous handy elevator. They kept it PG on the ride this time, only stealing a few kisses. Glen greeted them at the door on his way out for the evening; his shift for the day over as per Ian’s lenient attitude. Mickey didn’t complain because it meant they could truly be alone like the previous night. Once they’d settled in, Ian actually went to the office on his own to finish up some paperwork. Mickey sat patiently by on a nearby couch, watching and waiting for Ian to be done so the fun could begin. He didn’t know why, but seeing Ian just sign his name on documents made his dick twitch. He was doing important shit that would only get done if his name was on it. Even his name had power and Mickey was so horny, he couldn’t wait any longer. He got up and came over to Ian, spinning his chair away from the desk so he could stand between his legs.

“You need something…?” Ian asked, clearly keeping himself from calling Mickey baby again. It made Mickey smile. He didn’t know if he’d like the name, but just the fact it kept almost slipping from Ian’s mouth made him feel a certain way. Maybe that would change.

“Need you,” Mickey answered, leaning down to kiss his lips. “You’re always thinking of me…so good to me. I wanna be good to you.”

“You don’t have to, Mickey. I want to take care of you. I do all this for you because it makes you happy and I like seeing you happy.”

Mickey rolled his eyes, pecking his lips again. “You make me happy, dummy. I like you, Ian,” he says like how Ian is always saying to him. He moves to his ear and licks the shell. “I want to take care of you too.”

Ian shivers and whispers his name, hands reaching out for him. Mickey moves back and gets on his knees, glad that they changed into their comfortable robes. He takes his off and lets it drop to the floor before opening Ian’s and going for the drawstrings of his pajamas. He massages over his chest and abs, looking up at him through his lashes before pulling his pants down enough to get his cock out. Mickey moans, feeling him semi-hard already. He strokes Ian to get him fully there, watching him reacting to what he’s doing. Ian’s eyes fluttered with lust, his skin flushing and hands touching Mickey. His fingers find Mickey’s hair and pull him closer so his lips graze the head of his dick. Mickey grins.

“You want it? Tell me, Ian,” he challenges.

“Will you suck my dick, Mickey?” Ian pants, hips rutting up to the heat of Mickey’s breath.

Mickey reaches down and fondles himself. Ian is opening up and showing himself more, and it’s making his dick leak. He wants to drive Ian crazy so he loses control. He wants to see Ian be Ian and not hold back. He quickly kisses Ian’s shaft then opens his mouth and takes in the head, sucking until his cheeks hollow.

“Oh shit, Mickey, yeah,” Ian says, sighing and pushing Mickey’s head down his cock more.

Mickey hums around it, feeling its weight on his tongue and the stretch of his mouth and throat. He swallows a few times and Ian’s hips cant and jerk. Mickey keeps jerking himself, as he continues to suck Ian’s dick like he’s wanted to do since he met him. He doesn’t know how he knew, but it was like he could feel that Ian had a big one for him to ride and suck and fuck. It’s like all his dreams are coming true every time he tastes the precum and something purely Ian. It’s so good, he can feel the big vein pulsing on his tongue. He pulls off and licks at it like it’s a damn ice cream cone. And it is a fucking treat. The mixture of Ian’s sounds and the way his body is betraying him are doing a number on Mickey both physically and mentally. He doesn’t know what the hell he was doing with his life before, but it was nothing compared to this…this feeling that he could make someone else happy.

“You work so hard,” he comments, slapping Ian’s dick on his face and lips while he catches his breath.

“Do it for you, baby…for you, Mickey,” Ian corrects himself, eyes meeting Mickey’s. He caresses his cheeks and looks at him like he means it. “Do anything for you.”

“Mmh…fuck, Ian!” Mickey can’t help it. He knows it’s true. Ian can do anything he wants with his money and that makes Mickey come so hard, he falls forward against Ian’s stomach as it rips through him. Even when he does something for Ian, Ian always does for him more than he could ever want. Before he can even really move, he’s back sucking Ian’s cock with new vigor, wanting to show him even more how much he appreciates him.

“Yess…yeah, yeah, yeah…oh my God, Mickey! Suck my fucking dick, yeah!” Ian’s loud with abandon above him, keeping his hips down even though he wants so badly to fuck Mickey’s mouth. Mickey can tell because he’s gripping his leather chair and desk so hard his knuckles are white. The rest of him is blushing pink and shiny from sweat.

Suddenly Ian’s phone is ringing and Mickey thinks he’s going to answer it when he lifts his hand, but instead he rests it on the back of his head. The relief Mickey feels that Ian seems to have gotten the message that Mickey prefer his attention on him makes him wish he hadn’t come already. It sends a tingle down his spine and he knows they’ll be okay. They still might need to talk properly, but they’ve got time. Ian’s nails dig into his shoulder and it feels so good to be wanted and needed that hard. His throat is burning and he can feel tears in his eyes. His mouth is stretched wide and his jaw hurts, but he doesn’t stop. 

“Oh, Mickey….ohh Mickey, yess,” Ian hisses, his whole body tensing up. He slaps a hand down on the papers on his desk and holds onto Mickey tight, as he finally comes down his throat. “Fuck…me, holy shit!”

Mickey swallows most of it, pulling off and letting some drip down his chin. It makes Ian shake and look at him like he’s everything.

“Jesus Christ, Mickey,” he says, using the sleeve of his robe to wipe Mickey’s face clean. Mickey smiles, pressing his face against his hand affectionately. Ian brings him up and examines the wet spot on his boxers, moaning his approval that Mickey got off too. He pulled him into his lap and kissed him, running his hands all over him. “Thank you, that was amazing. Fuck.”

Mickey chuckled, blushing slightly. He kissed Ian’s nose, laughing loudly when Ian suddenly stood up with him still in his arms. He set him down and took his hand, walking them out of the office.

“What about your work?”

Ian closed the door. “It can wait.”

 


	4. Presents of Mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey couldn’t get Ian out of his mind even if he tried. Which he wasn’t.

Mickey blinked up at the ceiling, examining the water stains and peeling paint. He wondered if enough of the cracks met up, the whole thing would come crashing down on him. He rubbed at his face and turned his head to see the time on his clock on the floor. He caught a whiff of his crusty sheets and winced. His futon creaked as he sat up and planted his feet right into an open box of leftover pizza.

"Fuuck," he groused, wiping his sauce-covered feet on a nearby shirt. He sighed, dropping his head into his hands. He shut his eyes and hoped he was dreaming. He wanted to wake up back at Ian's place, anywhere but his apartment would have been better. Instead he opened his eyes and immediately spotted a cockroach the size of his toe. "Oh fuck! Fuck me!" He sprang up and moved across the room to the kitchenette. He paced around, trying to calm himself and seriously hating his life. When he couldn't see the intruder anymore he moaned, flopping onto the counter where he'd been going over the really really important bills. He'd managed to scrape up just enough to cover the lights and water, and maybe some food if he was careful. He didn't bother making grocery lists anymore. What was the point?

He sighed again and looked around his shitty place and tried to make himself feel better by remembering the night before. He smiled, thinking about going down on Ian in his office and falling asleep in Ian's arms while watching tv in his bed. Ian's fingers in his hair gently stroking through it felt amazing. His warm body was hard yet comfortable enough that Mickey was having a hard time staying awake. He didn't even know what they were watching, but the glow and the sheets and how good Ian smelled all worked against him. And he woke up in Ian's embrace, grinning when he heard the man inhaling his scent. Good morning kisses soon turned to lazy sex, which led to more kissing in the shower than actual washing. Eventually they got dressed and met Glen in the kitchen after Ian showed him the rest of the penthouse. Mickey's never eaten so many banana pancakes in his life, and he was surprisingly fine with the turkey bacon Ian preferred. The coffee came from a machine just like some fancy shop and they drank it out on the patio, talking and smiling at each other.

And then the phone rang and suddenly Ian needed to be in fucking Texas.

Mickey's world came crashing down. It all happened so fast. Ian kept telling him he could stay while he was gone and apologizing over and over. But it was like Mickey had shut down completely. All he could think about was Ian leaving him again and how he didn't want to be apart from him. He hated it. It sucked. He didn't want to sit in Ian's place without him. So they went their separate ways, Ian in a town-car and Mickey in the black truck with Kevin. Ian had kissed him goodbye too quickly, hugged him too quickly, disappeared too quickly. The entire ride home was a blur. Mickey's heart ached as he shoved the sticky door open, climbed the stairs stepping over a dead mouse and stumbled into his dark apartment. The worst part was Ian hadn’t even said when he would be back. He just kept saying as soon as he could. Mickey hated that part of him was mad, after literally sorting out that Mickey would come before Ian’s work. Well, maybe they hadn’t exactly talked, but they’d used their mouths for something, right? But of course he wasn’t mad now, not after seeing Ian’s face the minute he got off the call.

So he ordered the cheapest pizza he could find and stuffed his face, washing it down with beer after beer until there was no more beer. Then he’d passed out, staring at his phone and waiting for Ian to call like the clingy fuck he apparently was now. But nothing had come, and there was still nothing as he checked his phone now. It was late. Now he was fucking worried and anxious. And maybe hungry again. He went to the cabinet and found one last stale poptart. It would have to do.

What Mickey really needed was a job. He’d look around, since he had some time now, but part of him was still living on cloud nine with Ian.

Ian Gallagher: millionaire philanthropist, porn star in the sack, goofy romantic, and the man he couldn’t get out of his head.

Not that he was really trying, though. He could think about Ian twenty-four seven if it were possible. He was even grinning like an idiot just thinking about how much he thought about the guy.  
Mickey threw himself back onto his creaky futon and chewed through the stiff pastry. He played a game on his phone for a while as a feeble attempt at getting back to whatever it was he did before Ian entered his life. He couldn’t really remember, so it must not have been living at all.

Since he didn’t have a television or an Internet connection, he spent some time planning out everything he had to do. He had to get back on his feet. This was a wake-up call. He couldn’t rely on Ian’s money like a crutch. And he wanted to be able to do nice things for him at some point. Not as nice as sky lounges and locker room tours, but something Ian would really appreciate. Mickey wasn’t quite sure what that was yet, though. What did you get the guy who could get it himself?

He fell asleep that night, money and Ian and wanting more of both on his brain.

The next day, he was woken up by banging on his door. By the time he got there, it had stopped but there was a package left behind. Mickey grabbed it and threw it on the counter, not recognizing the address. He went to take a shower, glad it even came on. That meant he could still make the payment before they cut it. He only had to kill one spider and he didn’t scream. So far his day was starting off right. It would make it better if he heard from Ian, but he couldn’t worry about that or he’d get too sad to get his shit together. By the time he’d gotten dressed and gathered up at least a load of laundry, he’d forgot all about the package. He set off to pay the bills first, then stopped into a few places that were hiring. He filled out the applications while waiting for his clothes, forgoing lunch so he’d maybe have enough for a pack of hotdogs. Every time he checked his phone, he couldn’t help but let his mind run wild with thoughts of Ian. His heart ached to hear his voice or see his face, even just a text, but there was nothing. So he forced himself to focus on other things. When he finished at the store, he was actually proud that what he got could be stretched for a whole week. He refused to listen to the little voice that said his dumbass should’ve just stayed at Ian’s.

He went to bed with a full stomach despite feeling empty. He missed the comfort of Ian’s bed and his warm chest pressed against his back. He hugged the clothes he’d been wearing around Ian close to his face, hoping it would feel like something but it just made it worse. When he woke up the next day, he was tired. Part of it was the fact he’d done more shit in a day than he’d done for a whole month, but mostly it was the lack of a tall redhead with green eyes like money. Needless to say he was quite grumpy at the fact Ian still hadn’t called, which made him mad and feel bad for being mad, then sad. It was fucking frustrating.

And his sister showing up wasn’t doing him any favors.

“The fuck are you doing here?” He asked, scratching at his hair and yawning. He’d been up for hours but was still exhausted, like all his energy had been zapped and Ian was his source.

“Nice to see you too, dick breath,” she sneered, but kissed him on the cheek as she waltzed in.

Mickey rolled his eyes and slammed the door. True, he hadn’t seen his baby sister in a while. They’d talked a few times and he’d even told her he was seeing someone. But she had a tendency to push his buttons and be a general pain in the ass sometimes.

Like now, as she poured herself a bowl of cereal. He groaned. He wasn’t in the mood.

“What’s up your butt? Or rather, what’s not up it?” she raised an eyebrow, grinning smugly.

Mickey sighed, throwing his dishes into the sink and beginning to wash them. “What do you want, Mandy?”

She came over and leaned on the counter next to him. “I wanted to see my brother but obviously he’s been replaced with a salty bitch.”

Mickey knew she was baiting him, clearly seeing there was something wrong. He ignored her but knew that would only make her be blunt about it.

She set her bowl down and crossed her arms. “What did that fucker do? I’m gonna fuck him up, Mickey, I swear to God!” She slammed her fist down.

“Calm down, Emo Buffy,” Mickey said with no real bite. “Nothing. He’s just out of town.”

Mandy scoffed. “That’s what they all say.”

Mickey rolled his eyes, setting his dishes on the rack to dry. “It was a work thing.”

“Work, huh? What does he do again?”

“None of your business, bitch.”

She laughed, incredulously. “You don’t even know! Oh my God, Mickey!”

“Who cares? At least he has a job.”

“Jason has a job!”

“Oh, fucking good for him. He still treating you like shit?”

It was low, but he was upset. He knew his sister loved him and he loved her back, but he could strangle her right now. She closed her mouth and looked away. Fuck. He touched her arm. “Sorry.”

She shrugged, then made a face. “Ew! Your hand is wet, asshat.”

Mickey chuckled, forgetting his problems for a second. “It’s just water, Wicked Bitch of the South.” She stuck her tongue out and flipped him off, and he flicked more water at her. She shrieked and hit him and he was actually having fun for point five seconds until he thought of Ian meeting her. Of course, he would have to fucking come back for that to happen. His grin fell and he went in the fridge for a beer, tossing her one too.

“You barely know this guy, Mickey,” she started.

“Don’t.”

“Aaron would—“

“Mandy, stop,” he glared at her. He didn’t want to hear that name now or ever again.

But before she could say anything else, they heard a noise. It sounded like buzzing and it was close.

Both sets of eyebrows knitted together.

“What is that?” Mandy asked.

“How should I know?”

“It’s your apartment.”

“I know that, skank, the fuck you want me to do?”

“Figure it out! I don’t know. Maybe this building is finally coming down.”

Mickey snorted. That would be just his luck to die in his apartment with his sister while Ian is gone. He set his beer down and listened, following the source. He didn’t get far before he had his ear to the package he’d gotten. He picked it up just as it stopped buzzing.

“You order another dildo to add to your collection?” Mandy teased, giggling to herself.

Mickey ignored her, although he genuinely wasn’t positive he hadn’t. He looked at the address again then decided his body might be immune to anthrax after living in his apartment for so long. He ripped it open and spilled the contents out on the counter.

“Here’s what was buzzing,” Mandy says, picking up a phone that clattered out. “Who sends a phone in the mail?”

Mickey slowly grins, picking up a card. “Ian.”

“Who the fuck is…Is that Tiffany’s?!” She shouted, grabbing for it. But she was too slow.

Mickey snatched up the robin egg blue box wrapped in a black bow.

“Who the fuck would send you Tiffany’s? Who’s Ian? Is he…is that chocolate? Who is this guy?”

“Ay! Hands off!” Mickey smacked her hands. She made a frustrated sound and pouted. Mickey shook the blue box but didn’t hear anything. He picked up another envelope and ripped it open. “Fuck,” he said, pulling out two passes to an MMA fight. He laughed, shaking his head when he noticed the name on the back.

“Gregory Blairs? Like, the Gregory Blairs that pretty much owns everything sports related in Chicago? How do you know him? Oh God, please don’t tell me he’s who you’ve been fucking.” She cringed, feigning losing her cereal.

Mickey laughed out loud. “Hell no. I met him through Ian.”

Mandy’s eyes went wide then narrowed. “Alright, spill. Who is this Ian guy, Mickey? He up and leaves then sends you a phone, foreign chocolate, free tickets, fucking Tiffany’s?”

“And a card,” Mickey held up the smaller envelope that was surprisingly thick. As much as he was playing it totally aloof, he was actually screaming on the inside. He’d been looking and waiting for a sign from Ian, and once again the man had gone above and beyond. He was so happy just knowing Ian had been thinking of him, he kept having to swallow down his excitement. If his sister knew just how much he was already so into Ian, she would definitely have something to say after she stopped teasing him for being a fucking sap.

“He’s just a guy I met online, okay? No big deal. Everybody’s doing it.” He tried to sound nonchalant and downplay the fact had clearly spent a lot of money on this little surprise. But he couldn’t let on that he had taken his sister’s joke advice or he’d never hear the end of it, especially since it was obviously going very well for him. No, there was no fucking way he was going to tell her that—

“Wait a minute…”

Fuck. No.

“Ian…Ian….where have I….oh!” She grabbed her bag and pulled out a heavily used magazine. She flipped through it then smacked it down on the counter, pointing at a picture of Ian. “I knew it! This explains everything! Oh my God…oh my God, Mickey? Mickey you’re fucking Ian Gallagher!”

Mickey closed his eyes, looking to the ceiling for strength. He didn’t even know why he bothered anymore. He played with the black bow on the box he’s only ever heard about and seen in magazines. Then Mandy hit him hard in the arm. “Hey! The fuck was that for!”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were dating a millionaire? Don’t you think that’s something you tell your fucking sister?”

Mickey rolled his eyes and sucked his teeth. “Would you relax? Didn’t tell you ‘cause it’s none of your business. Where did you even get that from?”

“I went to the doctors yesterday. Don’t change the subject. How did you two meet?”

Mickey bit his lip, concentrating really hard on the article about Ian from about a year ago. It was just a quick blurb about entrepreneurs under thirty-five. Oddly he recognized the background of the photo they used because it was the very office he had sucked off said entrepreneur. The desk was different, though. It made his neck hot. He couldn’t take his eyes away. Even though the photo was old, it was still of Ian and that’s all he wanted right now. The gifts were nice, Ian obviously knew what he liked and this was his way of apologizing. Mickey couldn’t be mad at that. He’d been dying for some more of the sweet goodness and he genuinely had planned on taking full advantage of Mr. Blairs generosity. He also bet that the phone would be ringing again soon and it would be Ian and his heart would explode. But he needed Ian here with him or it wasn’t the same.

Mandy hit him again.

“Ay!” He hit her back and frowned.

“You little slut, you got yourself a sugar daddy!” She was grinning so wide, it was hard to tell if she was happy for him, mad, or highly amused. “No wonder you’re in a bad mood. Daddy’s not around to buy his baby things,” she teased, poking at him.

“Mandy! Stop! Would you—would you stop? Fuck. It’s not like that.”

She held up the Tiffany’s box, raising a skeptical eyebrow. “It’s not?”

Mickey sighed, taking it back and finally opening it. “No, okay? Ian’s not some pervy old queen, alright? He likes me. It’s mutual.”

“Ah yes, the mutual relationship of him paying for your ass.”

Mickey gave her a flat look. She was just having her fun now. He’d said his bit and she was just trying to get back at him for some sibling disclosure violation in her eyes. Inside the box was a small leather pouch in the same color. He undid the drawstring and pulled out a black[bracelet](http://m.tiffany.com/jewelry/mens-jewelry/tiffany-t-square-bracelet-GRP09048?trackpdp=bg&trackgridpos=1&search_params=s+5-p+1-c+288222-r+-x+-n+36-ri+-ni+1-lr+0-hr+-1-t+-mi&fromcid=288222&fromgrid=1&gridpos=36%2f0#p+1-n+36-cg+viewPaged-c+288222-s+5-r+-t+-ri+-ni+1-x+-pu+-f+-lr+0-hr+) that didn’t connect all the way. It felt a little heavy and definitely would shine in less shitty lighting. It was simple, and even though Mickey wasn’t much of a jewelry guy, he wanted to wear it. It was oddly satisfying seeing it on his wrist; the wrist that Ian had pinned to the bed a few nights ago, the one he kissed on his way up Mickey’s arm, the one he caught when he wanted to hold Mickey’s hand. Yeah, it definitely looked good and it made him feel good, like Ian was always with him.

“Wow. I didn’t even know they had men’s stuff at Tiffany’s,” she said, looking at it in awe. Mickey couldn’t hold in his smile anymore, which made her smile too. “Mickey, you’re in love.”

Mickey’s eyebrows flew up his forehead. His heart sped up. It was way too soon for that word. “What?”

“With money,” she winked, popping a chocolate into her mouth and swooning. “Damn, that’s good. I might be in love too.”

Mickey shook his head, not noticing when she had opened the chocolates. He grabbed them out her hand. “That’s the only one you get.”

“Greedy bitch,” she muttered.

Mickey picked up the two passes and shoved them at her. “Here. Happy now? Knock your fucking socks off.”

“What? But, Mickey…you sure?” Mickey nodded and she shrieked, jump-hugging him. “Thank you! Oh my god, Eric is gonna flip!”

“Eric?”

“I’m cheating on Jason. What’s the card say?” She said all at once, and not intending to explain herself.

Mickey laughed, opening the envelope. Ian had written a note, saying he hoped Mickey liked the gifts and that he would keep trying the phone til Mickey picked up because it was to be their special phone for reaching only each other no matter what. Mickey’s heart fluttered and his eyes automatically found the phone hoping it would start buzzing again. He went back to reading, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from obliterating the rest of his manhood with his dopey smiling. Ian was sorry for the short notice and hoped Mickey forgave him. He said he would let him know when he’d be back but to expect more packages. And that he couldn’t wait to get back to him and fuck him senseless. Mickey blushed and cleared his throat.

“Just your average, normal, sorry boyfriend stuff,” he explained, still staring fondly at Ian’s messy handwriting and the signature that made his body feel all tingly.

“He must have screwed up big time to send you his shiny metal credit card,” Mandy said slowly, mesmerized by it but also slightly confused.

Mickey lost his breath. “He…what now?”

Mandy raised her eyebrow and held up the card. Once again, Mickey didn’t see when she got a hold of it, but there it fucking was. The card Ian used that just had his initials on it; the very card that got him hard whenever Ian whipped it out.

“Shit,” was all he could say, staring at it in his hand. He’d never touched it before. It felt almost the same as the bracelet on his wrist; weighty and powerful. “Shit,” he repeated.

Mandy slowly put the passes in her bag and backed towards the door. “I’m…gonna go now…because you look like you’re about to fuck that thing.”

Mickey nodded, only kind of joking. He walked her to the door and locked it behind her, not even hearing what she had to say. He obviously couldn’t use it. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. Maybe for emergencies? What was an emergency exactly and did it include the hospital, because he was sure he would pass out. He’d never had this much money in his hand at once, and he didn’t even know how much was on it. He just new. He sat down and just looked at it for a while, fingerings the edges and once or twice wanting to smell it. He ran it up and down his jeans, close near his cock and felt the blood rush there. It burned the longer he played with it, but he would never use it. He didn’t care that Ian gave it to him to use. He wouldn’t and that was final.

But he slipped it into his boxers anyway, just to feel it against his skin. He knew it was gross but since he was never going to us it, it was fine right? It felt cool at first, then quickly heated up. It was a fucking beautiful credit card.

Then the phone was ringing. Not his phone. His other raised phone. The one Ian gave him because he promised that Mickey was more important to him. He eagerly answered it, desperate for the sound of Ian’s voice to hit his ears.

“You over the top asshole,” he said, answering the call.

He could hear Ian’s smile through the phone. “Forgive me, Mickey.”

 


	5. Pampers and Spoiled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian returns. Mickey is happy. Someone from Ian's past returns. Mickey is confused as hell.

Ian hadn’t been lying in his card when he said to expect more gifts. A day later, and Mickey was wearing a cowboy hat. Two days later it was a bottle of cologne from Hugo Boss and then hours later the rest of the toiletry set. It even came with a travel bag. After that there was an unmarked box filled with toys and lube, sent with a very lengthy note by Ian describing how he would use every single one on him. Mickey shoved that one away where not even his sister could find it, but it made him feel naughty just having it. He had a few of his own, but nothing like what Ian had picked. He wasn’t even sure he’d be that into some of it, but thinking about Ian’s excitement got him hot. And all through the week, Mickey heard his voice on their special phone, as they spent hours talking into the night despite the difference in time zones.

Mickey probably enjoyed that part more than the stuff. Not that he was complaining, but it was something about the way Ian sounded so eager to tell him everything. Even when they were silently listening to each other breathe, Mickey could hear the words wanting to be said between them. Ian would call him, frustrated about something that wasn’t going right, and Mickey would take pride in how fast he could cheer him up. He loved it. But for some reason, he didn’t mention his new job at a theater serving refreshments during intermissions. Sure, he’d never seen a play or musical or anything like that, but it was money and the job wasn’t too hard. He started working a few nights and was already liking the atmosphere. Sure, sometimes there were rich assholes, but for the most part it was cute old couples who thought anything with raisins in it were an acceptable candy. He wanted so badly to tell Ian about it, but every time he thought about it, he felt weird. What if Ian realized just how fucked he really was? And if Ian thought he shouldn’t be working at all, he didn’t know if he would have a problem with that or not. So he kept quiet. By the time Ian finally told him when he was coming back, he had a few paychecks under his belt and felt a little less bad about his situation. At least he would be able to pitch in on occasion, if Ian let him. It made him feel kind of good, actually. And maybe it was also the fact he wasn’t starving all the time.

He still couldn’t bring himself to use the credit card, though. He would take it out, look at it, practically fondle the thing before slipping it back into his wallet. He wondered if Ian was monitoring it. Did rich people check their bank accounts? Did they even think about their money as a tangible concept? Mickey couldn’t imagine a life where funds weren’t always on his mind; how much he had, how much he spent, how much he didn’t have but spent anyway. The one smart financial decision he ever made was never getting a credit card. Sure, his credit was already fucked from unpaid bills, but at least he wasn’t getting calls to pay off the damn things. Although, it would be easy to avoid calls if his phone wasn’t in service. He’d tried to warn Mandy, but banks seemed all too eager to convince her she could handle a thousand dollar limit. She fucking couldn’t, of course, but that was her mess. And yet, being in possession of one that virtually had no limit made him feel oddly powerful and sexy. His name wasn’t on it, but the person whose name was thought he was special enough to have it. And maybe that was justification enough for using it? He would probably have to stop using it to jerk off then.

But right now, all he could think about was the fact Ian was on his way back to him. He was counting down the hours. They talked less and less, as he was finishing up a deal, but Mickey didn’t care. He just wanted to see him in person.

“I-I’m s-sorry…I…I just,” a woman in front of him at the store broke him out of his trance. Her kid was crying and she looked frazzled, as she searched her purse for the money she knew wasn’t there. Mickey knew that embarrassing charade all too well. He felt for her, he really did, but she was holding up the line and he was dead on his feet from a long shift. People behind him were just as annoyed, sighing and huffing. He only had a couple things, some toilet paper and a few cans of chili he planned on smothering a couple hot dogs with, so he’d let her go first with her small basket of items. Big mistake on his part. The baby was getting louder and she looked like she was about to start crying herself. And then the worst part about being broke in public began unfolding before her, as the cashier slowly began to take her stuff back and set it aside.

“N-no, please…just the diapers, forget the rest,” she pleaded, tears actively clinging to her lashes.

“It’s still not enough, ma’am. Please move aside.”

Mickey kept his head down as long as he could, but as soon as he heard her break down completely he got angry. Not punch something angry, but do something he didn’t normally do angry. He pulled out his wallet and the shiny metal card, nodding towards his stuff and hers.

“Just ring it all up.”

The cashier gave him a surprised look, eyes shifting to the woman as if to suggest he should rethink that decision. “Are you sure?”

“Did I fucking stutter?” Mickey raised his eyebrow, impatient and tired and just wanting to fix the problem. The cashier shakes his head sheepishly and begins quickly ringing everything up without another word. Mickey swipes the card and is glad he doesn’t get asked for identification or a signature. “Thanks,” he grunts, taking his one bag and handing over the woman’s three bags.

“Thank you, thank you so much…you are so good. Thank you, sir,” the woman is crying happy tears now. She looks like she would be grabbing his shoulders and hugging him if she weren’t juggling the bags and her baby.

Mickey shakes his head and waves his hand. “No problem, lady. Little ankle-biter’s gotta eat too.”

She laughs a little, cooing at the kid. “Say thank you, Malik. Say thank you to the nice man.” She made his little hand wave.

Mickey couldn’t help but smile. The kid was cute. His mom was pretty, too, her hair braided up. She’s wearing nurse scrubs and looks tired too, so Mickey understands even though he’s never had a kid. He gets it. It feels good to help, not as bad as he thought. And they look happy now and grateful, and Mickey feels good about it. He can feel the card in his pocket and he somehow knows Ian wouldn’t care what he’s finally used it on. He’d probably be really proud and impressed, and suddenly Mickey wants to get out of there and get home to bed so it can be the morning of Ian’s return.

“Thank you, again,” she says before turning and leaving.

Mickey nods, blushing a little. He ducks his head and grins all the way home. He doesn’t feel tired anymore, so he eats and curls up in his new sheets he bought with his money. He thinks about what it would be like to be rich enough to help himself and others.

In the morning, he’s surprised to find Kevin outside waiting for him by the black truck he’s become so familiar with. He immediately hops in when he opens the door for him, hoping Ian is inside but he isn’t. Kevin must see the disappointment on his face because he gives him a sympathetic look.

“We’re meeting Mr. Gallagher,” he informs him, as he begins to drive through the city.

“Oh,” Mickey says. He’d been waiting for a call all morning and had decided to go for a walk to take his mind off of what could possibly be delaying Ian. “But he’s here, right?”

Kevin chuckles, glancing in the rearview. “Yes, Mr. Milkovich. Landed safely about an hour ago.”

Mickey let out a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding. Even though it was clear Ian was alive because they were meeting him, his mind had taken him on a morbid journey in the few seconds before the driver’s assurance. Mickey nodded and didn’t say anything else, although he was curious where exactly they were going. Twenty minutes later they pulled up outside a building with a bright red door. Mickey got out and looked up at the sign to figure out any clues.

“The Red Door? That’s fucking creative,” he commented, earning him a laugh from Kevin. He was led inside where they were met by Glen. “Ay, Alfred! Missed ya!” Mickey grinned, ribbing the guy.

“Likewise…Master Dick,” he teased smugly.

Mickey took it in stride, genuinely glad he and Glen seemed to have a weird sort of bond. And he really had missed him, if not just for his cooking. He was funny when he wanted to be and was pretty good at answering any questions Mickey felt too stupid to ask Ian. He might even say they were friends.

"You have me confused with Ian," Mickey winks. The man stifles his smile and turns away.

“Let Mr. Gallagher know he’s arrived,” Glen told the receptionist then quickly took Mickey up one floor and through a set of glass doors. There were plants and white couches, water features and candles, and some soft yoga-sounding music coming from white speakers. There was so much white, it was blinding. Even the woman at the white, minimalist desk had a bright smile, only she wore a soft blue dress and matching heels.

“Welcome, Mr. Milkovich. We’ve been expecting you.”

Mickey looked around, bewildered for a moment. Last time he heard that was at his parole appointment. Glen had disappeared. He scratched at the back of his neck, feeling out of place in Ian’s world, as usual. And where was Ian?

“My name’s Kate. I’ll take you to Mr. Gallagher,” she said, as if the strange white room had amplified Mickey’s thoughts to her. She took him through another door and down a hallway, then she unlocked another door with a key-card. “This is our VIP area,” she answered again without Mickey asking. They stopped at a door that she opened and she immediately shrieked.

“Oh my God! I’m so…sorry, Mr. Gallagher!” She covered her mouth, frozen and unable to take her eyes off of Ian, who was standing stark naked in the middle of the room. “I should’ve…should’ve knocked,” she stammered, trying her best to look away from his impressive junk. Her face was so red it clashed with her dress.

Mickey went wide-eyed but couldn’t help but grin from ear to ear. There was Ian, literally in the flesh, looking only slightly embarrassed by the sudden intrusion because he was focused on Mickey.

“Hi,” he said, waving stupidly but smiling like he always did when Mickey was around.

Mickey laughed. “Hi.” He let his eyes dart down Ian’s body for his own pleasure more than as a hint that he should probably cover himself. Although, it was probably weirder that Becky or whatever her name was hadn’t left yet. “Thanks. I got it from here,” he said, looking at her.

It took three more seconds for her to come back to herself. She shook her head and shielded her eyes. “Right. Yes, sorry. I’ll just…Sorry.” She backed out of the room and closed the door, no doubt heading to the bathroom.

“Do chicks always cream around you?” Mickey asked, stalking slowly over to where Ian stood. He only now realized the two massage tables set up side by side. He stopped just a few feet from him, looking at him in all his glory.

Ian blushed, rolling his eyes. “Not all of them,” he shrugged. “C’mere,” it sounds like a whine disguised as a command, and it makes Mickey go to him even faster.

They kiss, wrapped in each other’s arms and holding each other tightly. Mickey moans, letting out a true whine of his own. He’s so glad to be back where he belongs, he feels like he might squeeze Ian to death and then kill himself just to be with him. It sounds extremely stupid in his head but he doesn’t give a shit. Ian is pressed up against him, abs tight and frame solid. His ass is firm and his dick is growing the more tongue they use. They can hardly breathe when they pull apart, staring into each other’s eyes like they’re trying to commit the other to memory.

“I missed you, baby,” Ian pants between them.

“I missed you so much,” Mickey admits because his heart bursts open at Ian’s endearment. “So fucking much. You don’t even know.”

Ian chuckles, “Yeah? You did?”

Mickey nods, kissing him several times and burying his face in his neck and smelling him. It’s heaven.

“Did you like your gifts?”

Mickey nods again, suddenly unable to form words. He can’t stop looking at Ian, touching him, kissing him or breathing him in. And Ian doesn’t stop him or ask him any more questions, just content to have Mickey back with him as things should be. They kiss again and it quickly turns heated. Soon Ian is just as eager and taking off his clothes. He picks Mickey up and sets him on one table as soon as he’s naked too, mouthing and sucking at his neck down to his nipples and biting them until Mickey is arching against him. He pulls him forward a little so his ass is slightly off the edge, then grabs some oil from a silver tray. It smells like honey and some kind of flower as Ian coats his fingers with it. He’s kissing Mickey again as he slides in the first digit and gets a surprise. He pulls back.

“You prepped yourself?”

Mickey goes red, totally forgetting about his early morning shower after a night of dreaming about Ian. “Wasn’t really intentional…I said I missed you, didn’t I?” he’s playfully defensive, trying to justify using one of the toy’s Ian gave him explicitly for when he missed him.

Ian groans, shoving two fingers into Mickey’s already stretched hole. “I can tell.” He fingers him slowly, wanting to feel every inch of him.

“Fuck, Ian…I want you, though. I want this in me,” Mickey keens, grabbing Ian’s cock and stroking it.

“Mmh, I’m gonna give it to you, baby…gonna give it to you good and hard.” Ian bites his lip, as Mickey uses some of the oil to lube him up. Then he shudders when he pushes into him roughly, not getting much resistance from Mickey’s used muscle. “Shit, you’re still tight, Mickey.”

“Fuck me, Ian,” Mickey pants, gripping his ass and encouraging him to move. Ian listens, pulling out and slamming back in before setting a brutal pace that shakes the wooden table. “Ah! Ugh fuck! Yeah, yeah!”

“You missed me?”

“Yeah!”

“Yeah? Bet you fucking missed me…” Ian is fucking him so good and hard, their skin slapping drowns out the sound of wind chimes and rain sticks. The incense are going to his head, but it’s his sugar daddy that’s making his whole body tingle and relax.

“Yes, fuck, yes…I did…I missed you, ugh!” Mickey doesn’t care if people can hear him. He wants them to know that Ian only does this to him. Ian pushes his chest so he’s lying on his back. He puts one leg on his shoulder and the other around his hip, and continues pounding into him at the new angle, rolling his hips so he hits his prostate. “Oh my God, Ian, right there!”

Ian is grunting with every thrust, hand gripping Mickey’s thigh and kissing his leg. When he finally comes, it’s hard and he doesn’t stop until Mickey’s coming too. He pulls him up and kisses him, brushing his sweaty hair back from his face. They smile at each other. Mickey gets a little scared because Ian looks like he wants to say something to him that might change things between them.

Instead they go to the bathroom attached to the room and take a shower, washing each other with soap Mickey would’ve stolen in another life. When they get back to the room, two women in white are waiting for them. They each take a table and let them work, massaging them all over. It feels great once Mickey gets used to someone being paid to touch him, but he’s honestly already boneless and free of tension from the fuck they just had. He almost falls asleep, but he refuses to close his eyes when Ian is looking at him so deeply. So he reaches across and takes his hand, locking their fingers and not letting go until their session is finished.

“I don’t think I can do anything productive after that,” Mickey jokes, as they head back to where the front desk was.

But Ian isn’t listening. His attention is on a man coming towards them, who suddenly has the same expression when he notices them, or rather Ian. Ian stops when they reach each other, Mickey stumbling forward because he didn’t expect it. But then Ian drops his hand and he almost gasps.

“Kenny,” Ian says, then he looks like he regrets it.

The guy, Kenny, smiles slightly. “Haven’t heard that in a while.”

“I doubt that.”

“You know I only let you call me that,” Kenny says, his eyes saying much more. It makes Ian shift on his feet, but he doesn’t look away. 

“Yeah. Yeah,” Ian agrees, smiles even, like he’s just remembered a fond memory. He slides his hands into his pockets.

“How are you, Ian?” Kenny asks, eyes glancing towards Mickey for a second but going right back to Ian.

“Me? I’m good. I’m fine. Working and…stuff.” Ian seems nervous. Mickey’s never seen him like that before; off his game in front of someone he knows.

Kenny nods, shakes his head. “Never could get you to stop, huh?”

Ian looks guilty and opens his mouth like he’s about to—

“Don’t apologize, Ian. I wasn’t exactly easy to handle either.”

Ian nods, looks down and back up. It’s like Mickey’s not even there. “H-how are you?”

Kenny smiles. “I’m great,” he says, then laughs when Ian gives him a skeptical look. “No really, I am. Just got back from Philly.”

“Oh. Calvin still there?”

Kenny nods, “And Julianne and Mark.”

“Mark? Really? Just saw him in Austin with Nick and Gabriel.”

“He said he saw you. I didn’t believe it at first,” Kenny teases.

Ian laughs. Mickey feels like he could grow two extra heads and Ian still wouldn’t acknowledge him. And what were they talking about? He didn’t know any of those names. That euphoric feeling he had about a minute ago is now completely gone. He wants to inject himself into their conversation in some way, but he doesn't know how it would work. He doesn't know anything. All he knows is that this guy is speaking to Ian like they know each other in a different way than they know all those dropped names, and he doesn't like it. He doesn't like how Ian's demeanor has changed. He doesn't like how far away he feels even though he's only stepped a few inches away...and towards the other man. He can still feel Ian inside him, but it doesn't help. He keeps his eyes on the floor to keep from doing something stupid like crying.

"You look good though, Ian."

Ian's back straightens, his shoulders broadening. "Thanks. You, uh...you too, Kenny."

Kenny nods then his eyes fall on Mickey who couldn't resist raising his head again. "And you are?"

"Mickey."

Ian finally looks at him and goes pale, stumbling to fix his mistake but making it worse by how much trouble he's having. "Mickey...Mickey is--this is Mickey. Mickey, Kenneth..."

"Cole?" Mickey questions, staring him down with mock inquisition.

Kenny laughs, "No, although I used to do some catalog work for them in my early years. Also did a couple PR events for them recently."

"I saw that," Ian chimes in, digging himself further into the doghouse.

"Did you? Actually, I meant to get in touch with you sooner."

"Oh? You got something cooking in that head of yours?"

Kenny laughs, touching Ian's arm. "You know me too well. I'm getting together with Johna and Andy in a couple weeks. Why don't you join us, yeah?"

Ian nods, enthusiastically. He seems to have forgotten how much trouble he's in or he doesn't care. Mickey can't tell.  "Of course, yeah."

"Great. You've still got my number?"

Ian hesitates, his ears turning pink. He nods once without looking at Mickey. "Mhm."

Kenny beams, his smile white like the walls and the hot anger coursing through Mickey.

"Great. See you, Ian." He holds his hand out.

Ian shakes it. It's too long. "Kenny."

"Bye, Mickey." Kenny nods his way and continues down the hall.

They stand there for four seconds longer than necessary, until Ian clears his throat and starts walking again. They don't speak until after Kate has waved them (mostly Ian) goodbye and they're getting into the truck.

"You hungry?" Ian asks, his attention out the window.

Mickey looks over at him, wondering what the hell just happened and what he's supposed to do about it. The answer is nothing because Ian isn't making it a big deal, so he shouldn't either. Even if he wants to scream and hurl questions at him. It was just a harmless reunion between friends, right? Mickey repeated that in his head until he believed it, squashing down his instinct to flip out and run back to the safety of his crap-shoot apartment. It's nothing. It was nothing. Ian is back and they've got the rest of the day and many more, if Ian will have him. So he keeps quiet. Ian was just taken by surprise, that's all. Running into people from the past was always weird, especially with new people standing right there.

It was nothing. Mickey wasn't worried. He was hungry.

Mickey takes Ian's hand and squeezes it, reminding him he's still there with him. Ian looks over at him and smiles. He's back to normal, so Mickey feels better. He leans over and kisses him and is happy when he kisses him back.

"I could eat," he says.

"What do you want? I'm buying," Ian wiggles his eyebrows, making Mickey laugh.

The tension was gone.

Mickey could relax and let Ian do his thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the part where mickey pays for the woman's groceries is based on the time i paid for a woman's groceries when i didn't really have any money. and i was just buying pads...but they started putting her stuff back and i just sort of **~did the thing~** because sometimes you get put in a position to help someone even when you least expect it, and so you must help them.
> 
> unfortunately, the part where mickey gets fucked at a fancy ass spa is not based on my life
> 
> anyway...Yay angst! :)


	6. Wealth of Information

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey isn't worried until he has to be. Ian might not be the open book Mickey believes he is. All signs point to a talk that might go better somewhere else.

By the time they’ve eaten and gone back to Ian’s penthouse, Mickey has completely forgotten about what’s his face, the former model now businessman. Glen makes salmon and jasmine rice for dinner, dessert is cheesecake topped with whipped cream, and Ian gets handsy in the first ten minutes of the movie they watch on the couch. He certainly doesn’t think of any bullshit meetings with anyone while he sucks Mickey off. And Mickey rewards his attentiveness with a flat tongue and hollowed cheeks. Mickey’s name rings in his ears, as he melts into Ian’s embrace for the night. He sleeps peacefully, not giving a second thought to some Ken doll motherfucker.

He wasn’t worried. Not the next day or the day after that. He wasn’t even worried two days later when he woke up and found Ian half-naked and sweaty in his gym. Mickey watched him do pull-ups until he couldn’t bare it anymore and made Ian bend him over his weight bench. They both worked up an appetite and met Glen in the kitchen for breakfast. No, Mickey didn’t have a care in the world until halfway through when Ian excused himself to take a call. Ian never did that. He wasn’t ashamed of his work or the people he knew. It never really mattered to Mickey since he’d stopped eavesdropping ages ago. It was just Ian showing his life and all that came with it, like the open book he was. Of course, Ian was always polite and spoke on the phone elsewhere if Mickey was sleeping, but never had he actively tried to get away from him. He admitted he didn’t like to leave Mickey alone if he didn’t have to.

But there Mickey was, scraping at the melted cheese on his plate from his omelet, and listening to Ian’s voice disappear behind his office door. He thought about following him and just sitting in his usual spot while Ian talked, but something about the way he’d rushed off glued him to his seat. He didn’t seem to just be fetching some document because he didn’t come right back. Mickey wished he’d seen who had been on the caller ID, although he had a sickening feeling in his stomach who it was.

“Fruit?”

“Who you calling a fruit?” Mickey said, snapping out of it. He watched as Glen pushed a dish of strawberries in front of him. He stabbed one with his fork and shoved it in his mouth, chewing as he thought. “Hey, Glen?”

The man eyes him, pausing for a second. “Real name. Must be serious,” he lamented knowingly. He resumed clearing away Ian’s plate.

Mickey bit his lip, wondering if he should even bother. He and Glen were as close as two people could get in about a month in the weird circumstances, but that didn’t necessarily denote his allegiance. If he said something out of line, the guy could easily pass it along to Ian and he’d be out of his life so fast his head would spin. One false move and he was back with the roaches and rats. But maybe that’s where he should be? If his gut is right, he’d rather find out now than later, right? And what if it isn’t all that bad? Glen seemed trustworthy enough to tell him the truth, whatever it was. He would just have to chance it.

“You know a, uh…Kenneth?” he forces out, avoiding Glen’s curious eyes. He concentrated on impaling another strawberry like it had interrupted to talk to his boyfriend.

“Mr. Yeun?”

Mickey shrugged. They hadn’t exactly exchanged pleasantries since the encounter had been frustratingly two sided. But how many Kenneth’s could Ian know?  
But Glen took his silence as confirmation. He wiped down the counter after taking away his plate. “I understand he’s been making a name for himself in recent months,” he began slowly.

"Where's he from?"

"Canada."

Mickey rolls his eyes. "Nah, man, like, you know..."

"His parents are from South Korea, I believe."

Mickey nods like this information means something. He doesn’t know why he's decided subtly is the way to go about this, but he doesn’t want to seem pathetically desperate either.

“So how does he know Ian?”

“They met three years ago at a charity event.”

Mickey waits for more, but the man is obviously trying to afford his employer’s dignity. He’s going to need to be blunt if he wants a real answer, so he bites the bullet.

“So they dated,” he states. It’s not really a question. He’s replayed the entire moment in his head over and over. They may have acted like former business partners, but they also spoke like exes. Mickey knows it, he just needs to know how deep the rabbit hole goes.

Glen nods after a moment, looking into Mickey’s face like he really doesn’t want to confirm anything Mickey may be thinking. But that look alone proves that there’s something to think about. “For two years.”

Mickey’s eyebrows go up but his heart sinks. He’d figured there had been enough time to mean something, but he hadn’t expected that much. He thinks back to what Ian said on their first date about wanting something different than he’d been doing. That had sounded nice then, but now it made Mickey feel like perhaps Ian was trying to make up for whatever had obviously happened in his past.

“Were they…like me and Ian?” he asks, not entirely sure how much the guy knows about what’s going on, although he’d be surprised if he was totally in the dark.

“They had a similar arrangement to you and Mr. Gallagher, yes.”

“What do you mean?”

Glen thinks for a minute. “Mr. Yeun wasn’t entirely new to the kind of…relationship he and Mr. Gallagher had.”

“What happened?”

Glen looks down and sighs, then looks back up at Mickey. “Maybe it would be better to ask Mr. Gallagher that question.”

Mickey knows he’s right. They should talk. They should’ve talked a long time ago. But he just needs to hear it from someone who was there for some reason. He doesn’t think Ian would lie to him, but he might edit himself. Mickey doesn’t want to admit there are things he doesn’t know about his sugar daddy, but he’s more afraid to admit there are things Ian isn’t telling him. He wants to ask more, push further, but he sees the man’s face. His well is running dry. It wouldn’t be fair. So he just settles for somewhere to start. He just needs something to determine whether he needs to be preparing himself for something larger.

“Was it bad?”

Glen looks him in his eyes.

Ian’s office door opens and he laughs.  
Mickey swallows, fighting sudden tears.

Glen leans closer, putting his hand on Mickey’s for just a second or two. “I don’t believe you and Ian are the same as he and Kenny were. That much I can tell.”

Mickey’s never heard Glen use Ian’s name before, and he really wants to believe it when Ian comes back grinning and gives him a kiss on the cheek.

Later on at work, he's distracted. After breakfast, he'd tried to act like everything was normal and that he wasn't bothered. If Ian noticed any change, he didn't say anything about it. He was himself as always, talking and sharing. It was all interesting, but none of it was what Mickey really wanted to know about. Mickey caught himself tuning out and focusing on how easy it was for his boyfriend to keep something from him. He let Ian kiss him and touch him, but it didn't feel the same. It was off. Not even the heavy weight of his credit card helped. In the end, he took a rain-check on shopping and left several hours before he had to be to his shift. Ian insisted Kevin take Mickey wherever it was he had to go, but Mickey played up his need to work off all the food he'd been eating. Ian laughed. Mickey walked the twelve blocks to the job he wouldn't admit he had.

Things were so fucked.

"Fuck!" Mickey hissed, as the blade of his box-cutter nicked his skin. He'd been unpacking candy deliveries to restock his cart for the night. He sucked on the small cut, tasting blood.

"You good?"

Mickey looks up to see his coworker, Gio, holding several boxes of his own. He'd trained Mickey and they shared many shifts. The guy was fun to be around and was serious when they worked. Mickey believed him when he said he was in line for a promotion. He's the same age but seems older. Maybe it's because he's Italian, but Mickey'd grown to like him after hanging out a few times. He didn't drink, but he could hold a conversation and sometimes that's all Mickey wanted. Keeping friends wasn't easy when you were in and out of the system so much. He preferred being alone, but didn't want to be lonely. Hence how Ian came to be. He felt a different sort of cut get deeper, so he shows Gio his finger. At least he can handle that pain right now.

"Oh, shit. Need the kit?" He sets his boxes down and goes for the one they keep in the ticket booth.

"It's small," Mickey says, watching him. He takes the antiseptic he hands him.

"It's the little ones that can get worse, though. You think it's not bad, but you don't know what's going on inside," Gio says, almost like he's not talking about minor injuries at all. "Better to kill whatever might try and kill you first," he adds, giving Mickey a bandage.

"That's what I'm afraid of," Mickey sighs. He can't help it. He's feeling that pull again that says he needs to talk about this, only it keeps coming up at the wrong time; the wrong person, really.

"Something up? You did seem out of it when you came in." Gio puts the kit back and resumes his work like the star employee he is.

"Been watching me or something?" Mickey jokes, but it's halfhearted.

Gio laughs anyway. "It is my duty as your manager to keep an eye on you."

"Supervisor," Mickey corrects. He examines his cutter for blood then keeps working. He focuses on lining up his display.

"Just you wait, Milkovich," Gio laughs. "What's going on?"

Mickey centers a few boxes down to the millimeter before speaking. "Uh...relationship stuff. I think?"

"Is it?"

"Yeah, it is, just...I don't know," he trails off. He doesn't know where to begin. He's not entirely sure he wants to divulge everything with his potential future boss, but he doesn't want to play the fucking pronoun game. Gio is waiting for him to say something so he takes a breath. "Been seeing someone and it's been good. It's nice, you know?" Gio nods. "We're fine, but something happened and now it...it-"

"Feels like things are not fine?"

"Kind of, yeah." He doesn't know why this is so hard. At least with Glen, he doesn't need to explain so much. Gio doesn't know any of it and Mickey's not sure he's ready to say it out loud yet. He should probably get over his fear if he ever hopes to bring it up when it counts. He moves on to making sure he has enough plastic cups.

"What happened?"

Mickey sighs. The memory tugs at him. "Ran into an ex and it was like I wasn't there, man."

Gio hums his understanding.

"And now they're...talking again," he continues.

"Talking how?"

This is the part that gets Mickey. Every time he wants to be upset, it's in the back of his mind. Should he be mad at Ian starting something that could be good for him, and thus their dynamic? Could he set aside his knee-jerk jealousy and treat it like he saw all of Ian's business partners? He probably could if that's all it was, but he can't ignore the way they acted with each other; the way they looked at each other.

"They're both in business, but they have history, you know?"

"Of course. Can't have been easy standing there." Gio comes back over, done with his cart and already putting on his vest. "What did he say when you brought it up?"

Mickey chokes on nothing, eyes going wide.

Gio shrugs, tucking his black shirt into his pants. "Just a guess. My sister used to talk like that before she came out," he explained.

Mickey calms himself, worry coming over him again at the man's question. He bites his lip. "Didn't," he admits, avoiding eye contact.

Gio's eyebrows jump up then settle. He nods, thinking for a moment. "Well, I could tell you what you should do, but you might not like it."

Mickey sighed, waving him off. "I know, I know."

"Doesn't have to be a therapy session or marriage counseling. But a conversation could be the difference between getting left and getting laid."

Mickey snorts. "I guess."

"If everything is fine, clearing the air won't hurt, man. I don't really know the guy, but you're with him for a reason, right?"

Mickey chuckles as he nods. He doesn't know the half of it.

"Good for you, Mickey. Nothing wrong with having somebody, but sometimes people have little things from their past that makes them get a bit squirrely."

Mickey groans, putting his head down on the velvet counter. Gio pats his back.

"I'm not saying it's a problem, just something to consider. I'm sure there's some stuff you haven't brought up that..."

"Ian," Mickey provides. He both hates and loves the way his heart flutters when he says it. He misses his sugar daddy right now. He should have stayed when he felt the way Ian kissed him goodbye. 

"That Ian should know about you, if it helps you guys keep things good and nice and all that."

Mickey makes a frustrated noise, sitting up again. He does want that. He wants Ian. He wants to call him right now but he looks at the time. The house opens in ten minutes and he needs to get dressed. He looks over his cart one last time and starts to gather the empty boxes. Gio helps.

"What if he thinks I don't trust him?" Mickey asks, as they make their way to the supply closet.

"Then he should probably ask himself why you would feel that way. If it really is nothing then he should let you know you don't have anything to worry about."

It makes sense hearing it from someone else. Glen is too close to Ian to be biased, but listening to Gio as a third party makes Mickey feel loads better. He's not all the way okay, considering what he knows he has to do, but at least his shift won't suck so much. And he's glad he can honestly talk with someone who won't judge him like his sister would. He reminds himself to call her anyway, to see if she's still alive at least. Bitch could call him too.

"Do something different. Make dinner and set aside some time to just reconnect."

Mickey scoffs, "Kinda hard when he could be on his plane at a phonecall."

"Well you need to...wait, did you say his plane?" Gio stops walking, making Mickey crash into him. He's not as broad as Mickey, but it still surprises him.

Mickey blushes. It's not that he's trying to hide the fact he's dating a millionaire, but it's not everyday someone admits they are. The implications would be enough to make anyone second-guess whether or not they kiss and tell. But by the way Gio is looking at him, he can tell he would never think badly of him for who he's with. Rich is the new homo, apparently. He wants to laugh. He wants to tell Ian his lame joke and make him laugh.

"Uh, yeah. Ian Gallagher." He doesn't know how else to say it.

Gio's eyes get wider. "No shit, huh? Gallagher? Good for you, Mickey."

Mickey laughs. "You said that already."

"I meant it then, too." Gio smiles and claps him on the arm. "My advice still applies."

Mickey nods. "Thanks, Gio. I owe you a soda." And he really does want to buy the guy a drink. For everything.

"I prefer peach tea, just like mama used to make."

Mickey makes a face and Gio shakes his head.

"Hurry up, man," he taps his watch. He's switched to work mode.

Mickey nods and goes to get ready.

The night goes like it usually does. Only a few people get anything before the show starts, but the intermission is busy as always. Mickey puts it on, laying it on extra thick when it looks like he might get a bigger tip in his cup, but he's not fake about it. For the most part it's a nice crowd of people who see the shows, unlike a movie theater. He likes his job and the people, especially Gio who he watches sometimes because the guy is a machine. It goes by quick after the second half starts, and then he’s home before he realizes it. He kicks off his shoes and sits on his futon, opening up his bag of fast food for dinner. It’s not anything special like Glen has probably made Ian, but it’s greasy and still kind of hot from his walk home. He pulls out the phone Ian gave him and is almost scared to hit the shortcut number, but he does it and listens to it ring. And ring.

It rings two more times and Mickey’s heart is in his stomach. Actually, it feels more like his arteries are clogged from his late meal, but it’s killing him just the same.

Then it picks up.

“Forgive me, Mickey,” Ian says down the line sounding slightly hurried.

“Is this a bad time?” Mickey traces the outline of the credit card in his pocket. The movement combined with Ian’s voice makes his dick twitch. He wishes he’d called Kevin to pick him up and take him back to the penthouse, but Mickey feels a bit like a dummy for leaving and stewing in his stupid thoughts all day. He just wants Ian to hold him, maybe rub his stomach because he probably shouldn’t eat so much crap. But he’s tired and part of him thinks Ian will say he can’t come back.

“No, baby. You need something?”

Mickey thinks about asking for the most expensive antacid money can buy, but he doesn’t want to worry him. But it does make him feel better knowing Ian is still thinking of making him happy. Whatever was keeping him from answering sooner is no longer a priority, and Mickey likes that. He palms himself and wonders if he’s not too exhausted to jerk it. Hearing Ian breathing is fodder enough.

“Nah, I’m good. Just wanted to call.”

“You miss me?” He can practically hear Ian’s grin. He slips his hand into his boxers after pulling his pants off.

“Mhm.” Mickey bites his lip, beginning to stroke himself. He starts slow and thinks about Ian’s hands on him.

“I missed you too,” Ian says, and Mickey’s breath catches in his throat. “Shopping is no fun alone. I wanted to take you to some of my favorite places.”

Mickey hums, licking his lips as he strokes faster. “Where? JC Penny’s?”

Ian laughs and Mickey’s legs start to shake. “Maybe even Target,” he plays along. Then he starts naming places he didn’t even know existed. He recognizes some, but there are some one would only know if they were personally invited to view a collection at fashion week. He asks Mickey where he’d like to go and Mickey can barely think. He imagines how much money Ian must drop on his clothes compared to the six pack of plain black shirts he just bought from a bargain bin, and he’s close to exploding. His head is back and he’s sure he’s been panting into the phone. Ian grows quiet like he’s listening, which only makes Mickey’s moves quicker. He let’s out a low sound, feeling his balls tighten. His toes curl and his thighs are burning.

“Do you like cars?” Ian asks, his voice deeper than before.

Mickey swallows down a moan. “Uhuh.”

There’s a pause. Mickey squeezes his eyes shut. He’s breathing hard and he’s hot and he’s so close. He swipes his thumb over his leaking head and definitely makes a noise.

“Hmm.”

Another pause. Mickey is right at the edge past return. He grips the phone tighter.

“Ian,” he whispers.

“You ever been to San Francisco, Mickey?”

Mickey comes, trembling and wanting to go anywhere Ian wants to take him.

 

 


	7. Greedy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian and Mickey leave on their trip to San Francisco. Mickey's obsession grows the more Ian shows him.

“I like cars, too, you know,” Mandy said over the phone.

“Stop pouting, bitch,” Mickey snarked. He had the phone pressed between his shoulder and ear, as he triple-checked that he had everything he needed. It wasn’t that he had much to pack, much less for a place that was sunny and warm all the time, but he’d tried to find his best looking stuff at least. Ian wouldn’t tell him where they were staying, but it probably wasn’t a fucking Radisson. He refolded a couple tank tops just to keep his hands busy. He was nervous, but excited. That seemed to be his constant state ever since meeting Ian. He smiled to himself, thinking about how happy Ian had sounded on the phone when he agreed to go. All week he’d been telling Mickey how much fun he was going to have, and how cool it was going to be. They were going to one of those huge auto shows with cars that weren’t coming out to the public for years, and vendors that galore. He’d worked in his share of auto shops after getting out, so he could appreciate a nice car even if he’d never drive one. Ian had shown him pictures on his laptop of the show he’d gone to in Las Vegas a few years ago. It looked fucking amazing. Mickey couldn’t wait, but he also couldn’t wait to have Ian all to himself on vacation.

“Got enough sunscreen, Casper?” His sister teased, giggling into the receiver. 

Mickey snorted, eyeing the two new bottles of SPF 120 he’d splurged on. Actually, he’d charged them to Ian’s credit card along with some new swim trunks. Ian hadn’t said anything about his reluctance to use it, but he was slowly getting comfortable with making small purchases. He wasn’t booking trips and buying stocks, but his cabinets hadn’t been so bare. He’d bought a new shirt for work and Ian liked it a lot, still not aware of what it was for. He had to tell him. He was going to, when the time was right.

“Yeah, mom, I’m all packed. Kevin should be here soon, actually,” he said, looking at the time. He was staying at the penthouse for the night, so they could leave early in the morning on Ian’s plane. Fuck, he was going to be on his sugar daddy’s private plane.

“God, don’t remind me. This was all my idea and all I get is lousy fight tickets.”

“And a fucking Italian scarf, you ungrateful whore.” He remembers Ian having it specially ordered when he had told him he gave Mr. Blairs’ passes to his sister. He was intent on spreading the wealth to anyone related to him, and Mickey would never admit the new low of jealousy he reached.

“Does Ian have any rich brothers?” She asked.

“What happened to Brandon?”

“It’s Jordan now, but a girl needs options. So, does he?”

Mickey swallowed. He looked at the time again, and then checked out the window. He was relieved to see the black truck pulling up just in time. Soon he’d be spending a whole week with Ian and everything would be perfect. There’d be no tension, no weirdness, no uncertainty or worry. It would just be them and they’d be happy. And he could ask Ian about his family, his past…everything.

“Hello? Does he?” She repeated, actually sounding desperate.

“I don’t know. Look, Mandy, I gotta go. Truck’s outside.” He grabbed up his one shabby suitcase and a light jacket just in case, then did a last check around his apartment. His rent was taken care of, as well as, his bills. He turned all the lights off but one, not that it would deter any robbers since they would clearly see he wasn’t home, but it was more for himself.

“What do you mean you don’t know? You’ve been seeing this guy for four months and you’re about to go on a trip with him, but you don’t know anything about him? Mickey?”

“Would you chill? I do know shit about him, okay?”

“His favorite position doesn’t count,” she says, and he can practically see the deadpan look on her face.

“I’m not talking about this with you, alright? I gotta go.”

“Fine. Have fun with Ian…if that is his real—“

Mickey ends the call, shoving his phone in his pocket. He locks his door and pretty much runs down the stairs, eager to get his vacation going. Gio had gladly given him the time off, reiterating that it would be a good chance for them to clear up and solidify their relationship. He’d even given him his paycheck early, joking that he probably wouldn’t need it anyway. Mickey had laughed, realizing he would miss his friend while he was gone. Gio had teased to bring him back a luxury car, but Mickey had already been thinking of bringing him back a souvenir. He hops in the truck after handing Kevin his stuff and watches out the window as his place disappears. When he gets to Ian’s, he’s in his office finishing up some work so he decides to bother Glen in the kitchen.

“How’s it hangin’, Niles?” Mickey takes a seat at the counter and watches him clean up.

“You’re bound to run out of names one of these days,” Glen laments, although his mouth lifts in a smirk. “Ice cream, Mr. Milkovich?”

“What kind?”

“Cookies and cream, sir,” he says, going to the freezer and pulling it out, then adds, “Ian’s favorite.”

Mickey’s eyebrows jump, not expecting the little fact but appreciating it. He’s surprised it hasn’t come up before, but he’s not worried about anything tonight. He’s not going to get upset about it. So, he nods and takes the bowl the man gives him. He eats, savoring each spoonful and imagining Ian curled up in his big house eating it like a kid. It makes him smile, thinking of a younger Ian. He adds it to his growing list of things he wants to know about. He’s in his own little word after Glen leaves, absently spooning the dessert into his mouth while his mind wanders to all the things he and Ian will do in the coming days. Ian comes up behind him and wraps his arms around his waist. He kisses his neck, making him laugh because it tickles at first, then he sighs when Ian finds his favorite spot.

“Enjoying my ice cream, Mickey?” Ian says, pressing more kisses up into his hairline and behind his ear.

“Oh, it’s yours, huh?” Mickey leans back against him and closes his eyes. A grin spreads onto his face and Ian kisses the side of it. Mickey takes the last spoonful and holds it up for him.

“Mmh.” Ian takes it and licks the spoon, making Mickey shiver and bite his lip. Then Ian captures his mouth, pushing his tongue inside. Mickey moans, tasting Ian and sweetness. He turns around and runs his hands down Ian’s chest and under his shirt. “Fuck, can’t wait to get you alone, baby.”

“We’re alone now,” Mickey chuckles, moving his fingers up to Ian’s nipples and pinching them. Ian groans, bringing him closer.

Ian composes himself a bit, stepping back. “True, but I want to see your face when you see where we’re staying. I want to see your face, as I fuck the most beautiful man in the most beautiful city in California.” He pecks Mickey’s lips then presses his nose into his neck and smells him. He hums, hugging him close again.

Mickey can feel heat in his face. He knows he’s not a supermodel. He spent years hearing from everybody how dirty and gross or ugly he was. It usually ended up bad for them because he looks like his mom and she was fucking beautiful. But hearing Ian say that about him makes him feel warm all over like they’re already on the beach in the sun. Ian mutters that he smells good and he has to laugh a little. It’s been a long day since he’s showered that morning, but he knows Ian means his scent. He got shit for that too, growing up, but Ian is always sniffing him like baked goods or flowers. He’s even joked he’d buy candles that smelled like him. Mickey had just rolled his eyes and joked that he had too much money.

Ian moves away from him, taking his empty bowl to the sink and actually rolling up his sleeves to wash it. Mickey watches him, amused for a moment then slightly turned on by the mundane act. Ian isn’t some silver spoon kid with nurses, Mickey knows that much, but something about seeing him do something someone else usually does for him is fascinating and sexy. He’s got suds on his hands and is thorough with the process. He’s talking excitedly about the itinerary, although he’s still keeping some details under wraps. Mickey doesn’t mind secrets like that. He listens and doesn’t take his eyes away. His hand finds his crotch and pushes down on the bulge forming. When he’s done, Ian takes his hand and leads him to the bedroom. They undress and climb into the bed, snuggling close.

“You’re not nervous, are you?” Ian asks, looking him in his eyes. He brushes his cheek with his thumb.

Mickey scoffs, “I never get nervous.”

Ian laughs. “That wasn’t the case on our first date.”

Mickey bites his lip. “You could tell?”

“Only because I was too,” Ian admits with a small smile.

That throws Mickey for a loop because he doesn’t remember it that way. But he’s tired and Ian’s body is warm. He’s gazing at him like there’s more to that story, but Mickey isn’t ready. He doesn’t want to think about that right now. And maybe Ian sees that because he kisses his head.

“You get a whole week of me, Mickey. You ready?” Ian asks with a yawn. He’s already falling asleep.

Mickey doesn’t answer. The truth is, he’s been ready for all of Ian for weeks now. He wants him, needs him, and if he’s honest he feels obsessed. Every part of his life is becoming surrounded by Ian and he loves it. He loves…

Mickey looks down at Ian lying on his back, breathing softly. He lays his head on his chest and hopes that he feels the same as him.

The next thing he knows, he’s looking over at Ian as his plane lifts off from the ground the next morning. Ian takes his hand and kisses it, giving him a smile like a puppy that can’t wait to go for a ride. It makes Mickey chuckle and forget that he’s in a small aircraft being taken to a place he’s never been before. Ian woke him up early with light kisses that turned into heavy sucking. He left marks on his collar and shoulders, as he humped against him. Mickey came, feeling relaxed and wanting more but they had to leave. Ian presented him with a Louis Vuitton travel bag that he felt almost bad putting his shitty clothes in, but it was leagues better than what he had before. Then they were off to the airport. Ian introduced him to his pilot, Eva. She’s nice, with a thick accent from somewhere Mickey can’t place but he can tell she doesn't take any shit from anyone. Halfway through the flight, Ian is on him again, kissing and tugging at his belt. He sucks him off and Mickey pulls his hair and tries to keep as quiet as possible. Even with the amazing flat midwest below them like America's patchwork quilt, Mickey would much rather watch as Ian's pink lips suround his cock like he was made for it. He comes for a second time somewhere over Utah he thinks.

"Let me show you the cockpit," Ian says with a wink. He kisses Mickey and he can taste himself in his mouth. He wants to make a stupid joke but his brain won't work, so he just nods. "Eva's been teaching me how to fly," he explains proudly.

"You would make excellent pilot, Mr. Gallagher," Eva smiles at them. She gets up and lets Ian take her place. "You just need to keep confident."

Ian nods, concentrating on steering. Eva puts her hat on his head and laughs. Mickey smiles. Ian does look good. He looks hot, pressing buttons and flipping switches that Mickey has no idea what they do. Eva leaves them for a moment and Ian only looks a little nervous.

"You're doing good," Mickey compliments, although he doesn't actually know. They haven't plummeted or crashed yet, so he figures that's fucking great, right? "You look hot." That gets a reaction from his boyfriend, who looks up at him with a grin.

"You want to try?" Ian lifts an eyebrow.

"Oh fuck no! I'd actually not like to die on the side of a fucking mountain, thanks."

Ian laughs, shaking his head. "We won't die, Mickey. It's easy once you know what to do. Come here."

Mickey knows he's not pressuring him. He knows he's not forcing him. He's not going to get mad or shove him out the door with no parachute. What makes him change his mind and move forward is that fact plus the way he's looking at him like he really believes he can do it if he tries. So he sits in his lap and Ian takes his hands and puts them on the wheel thing. His heart is beating fast because he can feel the weight of the steel tube holding them up in the sky like some impossible miracle, but it's also kind of thrilling. Ian is pressed against his back, which makes him hot and bothered because he can also feel his dick, but there's blue sky and clouds in front of him and he isn't scared. It's fucking awesome.

Ian slowly lets his hands go and he's doing it by himself. "You're doing great! See?" He rests his hands on Mickey's thighs and kisses his neck.

"You're distracting me," Mickey chastises him, but he doesn't move away from Ian's mouth. He feels one of Ian's hands press against his dick and he squirms. "Ian," he breathes.

"How about I take it from here, yes?" Eva is back and doesn't look bothered at all by their obvious affection.

The two of them blush slightly and get up, moving back to their seats, giggling a little. They'll be there soon, so they sit back and relax the rest of the way. Ian looks out the window but steals glances at Mickey every now and then. Mickey tries to keep his focus on anything else but Ian, but he just can't. They land and a towncar picks them up. Mickey actually misses Kevin a bit because the dude looks like he was around when the car was invented. Ian cracks up when he mentions this and they make jokes the whole drive. California is absolutely beautiful. The sun is out, there's a few clouds and a slight breeze that smells like the ocean and something else. The palm trees are huge and the buildings are low to the ground. Ian points out different places and tells him little facts the whole time, and he listens and squeezes his hand. They finally pull up to a big white building with a black awning and flags lining the top. It looks like a block of marble that's been carved into, with pillars and all types of architecture that Mickey doesn't have names for but they look really cool and expensive. They walk inside while someone gets their stuff, welcoming them to The [Fairmont](https://www.google.com/search?q=fairmont+hotel+san+francisco+penthouse&hl=en&site=imghp&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwiTgpjfze_SAhXCeCYKHd2oDdoQ_AUICCgB&biw=1366&bih=662#hl=en&tbm=isch&q=fairmont+hotel+san+francisco&*) Hotel. Mickey feels like he's gone back in time to some Victorian age shit. There's gold accents everywhere, even on the ceiling, and the decor matches perfectly. There are a few people lounging, but something tells him he's not going to be seeing a lot of regular tourists milling around in socks and sandals. But Ian looks like he belongs in such a beautiful place and it makes Mickey want him so bad.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Gallagher. How was your trip?" The receptionist asks with a smile so huge, Mickey is surprised he understood what she said.

"Great, thank you, Reshma. How are you?" Ian is so smooth and charming, but also genuinely nice. It makes Mickey's stomach do weird flips and his heart pick up speed. It comes so easily to him and Mickey can't even stand it.

"I'm fine, Mr. Gallagher. Let me check you in." Reshma types quickly on her computer, asking Ian to confirm a few things, and then she's handing them both keys to the [penthouse](http://sf.curbed.com/2013/6/24/10228590/fairmont-sf-penthouse-suite-luxury) suite, because of course Ian wouldn't stay in a regular single unit with a mini-fridge and maybe a tv. Mickey wonders what the bill looks like for one night in this place and remembers they're staying for four. His dick gets so hard, he practically pushes Ian to the elevator once everything is settled.

Ian chuckles then moans, as Mickey attacks his lips in a hard and sloppy kiss. They shared a bottle of champagne on the way and Mickey can still taste it on his tongue. Ian lets him kiss him, wrapping his arms around his waist and pulling him closer. He curses when he feels Mickey's hands reach under his shirt and palm his growing cock. Ian's head dips back and Mickey is able to leave a nice mark at the base of his neck before the doors open on the eighth floor. Ian reluctantly pulls away to open the huge door that leads to the only room on the floor. As soon as Mickey steps inside, his jaw drops.

"Ian...what the..." he can't even finish his sentence because they've just walked into a massive room with a high ceiling and light pouring in. There's a fucking grand piano in the middle of the room. "Ian, what..." he repeats, still unable to string together any words that could possibly describe what he was seeing and feeling. He was still horny as fuck, but suddenly he couldn't breathe or blink.  
Ian had the nerve to smile sheepishly, like he wasn't the one who paid for all this. He took Mickey by the hand because he was frozen to the spot, and led him further into the penthouse.

"There's three bedrooms, this is the living room, there's a kitchen and a dining room," he begins to explain, taking Mickey on a tour of the place. "The library has two stories...well, two floors, I mean. Lots of stories, obviousl," he laughs nervously, searching Mickey's face for any other reaction besides surprised amazment. He continues on, telling him about some of the history as he shows him a room with a pool table that's floor to ceiling fancy tiles. He takes him out to the terrace that has a fucking fountain, and the view of the city and water is absolutely breathtaking.

Mickey stares out, just trying to wrap his head around the fact he's standing on a hotel balcony in California that costs more than his entire life. He would have to work night and day at the theater for five years and he still wouldn't be able to afford the chair he suddenly needed to sit down on. His knees had been getting weaker with everything Ian showed him. Everything down to the food in the kitchen was expensive. There was a full table set for sixty people and enough space to throw a goddamn wedding. It was bigger than Ian's place by miles, and Mickey had just been getting comfortable putting his feet up on his furniture. What the hell was he doing in a place like this? He fingered the credit card in his pocket, hoping it would ground him a little, but it might as well have been a cardstock business card. The money on it wasn't even two percent of what Ian had spent on all of this, but he did it all or him. This was all for him and Ian made it happen. He looked at Ian leaning against the balcony with the cityscape behind him. The wind blew his hair and shirt slightly and his freckles were already darkening from the sun. Mickey stood up and walked over to him.

"So, what do you think?"

"Bedroom."

"What?" Ian's eyebrows nitted together. He brought his hand to Mickey's hip.

"Bedroom. Now," Mickey growled, voice deep with lust. His eyes didn't leave Ian's. He was breathing hard.

Ian looked a bit freaked out and confused, but he nodded slowly. "Which one?" he asked, leading Mickey back inside. He picked up his pace, seeing Mickey's urgency.

Mickey was hot on his tail. "Doesn't matter."

They get to a room with a large four-poster bed with a white curtains. They stumble inside, not bothering to close the door. Mickey manhandles Ian onto the bed and Ian groans loudly, clearly enjoying being dominated. Mickey attacks his mouth again, straddling his thighs and pinning him down into the soft comforter. Their tongues wrestle and tangle and their hands roam all over each other. Mickey grinds down onto Ian's dick, loving how hard he is. He cups the back of his neck and kisses him harder. Ian is sighing and moaning under him, completely on board with the change of pace after clearly being worried he'd broken Mickey. Mickey couldn't care less about the grandeur of the room, as he yanked both their shirts over their heads. He kissed and licked down Ian's chest, marking him up just as much as he had marked him. Ian was his and he wanted everyone to know. Mickey undid Ian's Armani belt and jeans, almost coming right then.

"Oh fuck, Mickey!" Ian shouted when Mickey finally got his mouth on him, sucking hard and fast. "Mickey, Mickey...shit, baby!" He reached down and fisted Mickey's hair as he bobbed up and down. Mickey held his hips down and swallowed around his dick, making him tremble. He whimpered when Mickey pulled off, sitting up to watch him get his own pants and boxers off. He grabbed him and pulled him on top of him, capturing his lips again. He lets out a little euphoric laugh when Mickey moves down to his neck.

"Wanna ride you til we can't move," Mickey pants in his ear, kissing the shell before briefly licking inside. Ian shivers against him, arching up so their dicks rub together. "Wanna feel you in me...all of you," he admits, taking Ian's hand and leading it behind him.

Ian gasps, eyes blowing wide when he feels it. His fingers brush over the small butt plug he'd given him, and he has to hold his breath to keep from exploding. "Holy hell, Mick...you didn't tell me--"

Mickey smiles a little, going red and ducking his head. That was exactly the reaction he'd wanted from his sugar daddy when he'd decided to do it last minute. He shrugs, looking Ian in the eyes. He keens, mouth dropping open as Ian slowly eases the toy out of him then plays with the gaping hole. "Oh God, Ian!" He quickly grabs the lube and slicks Ian's rock hard dick.

"You sure?" Ian pants, taking Mickey's face in his hands so they're looking at each other. They've used condoms since that first time and neither minded the extra percaution. It made clean up easier and it was just part of their routine.

But Mickey wanted to feel all of him. He wanted to feel every inch of heat stretching him open and going in deep. His body craved it, thrumming just from the thought of Ian's touch. And when Ian would touch him, his skin would catch on fire, burning him from the inside out. He wanted to feel all of that right now in this palace. He wanted to feel Ian's money and power, and he wanted it now.

"Yes," he whispers. Ian takes another second then nods, kissing him softly. It heats them back up, and soon Mickey is sliding down his length. He takes it all in one motion, his ass greedily accepting Ian's huge cock. Mickey moans loudly, fully seating himself on Ian's lap. He starts moving and Ian is looking at him. It's too much and not enough. He pulls him up so he's sitting, crashing their mouths together again. He wraps his arms around his neck, fingers finding their way into his hair. Ian grips his ass and thighs, helping him stay balance while also slamming him down harder. "Uhh uh uh, fuck, fuck, Ian!"

"Yeah, keep going, baby. So good, so fucking hot. Oh shit!"

Mickey gets up on his feet and bounces up and down, grabbing onto Ian's shoulder and one of the posters. He catches a glimpse of the room, looking up at the chandelier. The bed is shaking with their movements. Everything is so nice and pretty, and Ian looks gorgeous all sweaty and in ecstasy. He grinds down on him and feels his orgasm pooling in his stomach.

"I'm gonna...I'm...fuck, oh fuck, I'm gonna---ugh!" Mickey comes hard between them, shooting up Ian's chest.

"Ohh my God, baby, yeah...come on my dick. I'm so close," Ian encourages. He rolls them over while Mickey is still riding out his release, and fucks into him with sharp thrusts. It's erratic and frantic, and he grunts. He throws his head back and lets out a loud shout, as he comes inside Mickey. "Mmmh, Jesus. You feel me, baby? You feel my come in you?"

Mickey nods, shaking all over and breathing hard. Ian collapses on top of him and they kiss slower than before. Ian pulls out and he feels open and thoroughly used. His hole clenches around nothing, pushing out Ian's seed, and he wants nothing more than for Ian to be back inside him. They lay there, unable to move just as Mickey promised. He's satiated for now, comfortable in Ian's arms while they catch their breath. They slip into sleep, exhausted from the trip and the intense fuck. When they wake up, it's darker out. Ian pulls him to the bathroom and it's just as extravagant as the rest of the penthouse.

"Jesus, Ian, how much did this set you back?" Mickey asks, taking note of the counter-tops and fixtures.

Ian is quiet, as he turns the shower on. Mickey turns to him and lifts an eyebrow. Ian comes closer and moves his tousled hair from his face.

"I don't think of it that way," he says, tracing his finger down Mickey's body. "It's just money."

"It's a lot of fucking money," Mickey scoffs bemusedly, looking up to the ceiling at another light fixture covered in crystals.

Ian smiles a little. He pulls Mickey's chin back down, running his thumb over his lips.

"It's not when it's for you, Mickey. I just want to give you the best. I want to give you everything. You deserve it."

Mickey swallows, seeing how serious Ian is. It makes his stomach drop and his heart swell in his chest. His legs feel weak, as Ian leads him into the shower. He fucks him against the wall, lifting his leg around his waist and kissing him passionately. Then he washes him. They stay in there a long time and the water stays just as hot as when they turned it on. They ignore their stuff that's been brought up at some point, getting back into the four-poster bed naked and curling up together.

Mickey wakes up in the middle of the night to piss, walking around after to make sure it wasn't all a dream. It isn't. He looks out at the city from the terrace windows and it's magnificent, but he soon returns to Ian because he needs him again. His words replay in his head as he pushes into him and makes him come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this took a while for some reason, but next chapter will be sooner and more sexy fluffy goodness....then things get angsty again ;D
> 
> loving everyone's comments. i know i'm horrible at responding but it makes me smile when i read them
> 
> let me know your predictions, concerns, ideas, or who your favorite oc is :)
> 
> Edit: Also!!! fun fact, a lot of this story comes from Gigi Gorgeous and her videos on youtube. She's stayed at this hotel and gives a tour of the penthouse on her channel, if you really want to see it. And she recently put out a video of her favorites that included a gold version of the Tiffany’s bracelet Ian gave Mickey in chapter 3 and I almost screamed lol Mickey had it first xD


	8. Laps of Luxury

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey and Ian spend the day at the hotel. Mickey realizes it doesn't take much for him when it comes to Ian, not that he's complaining. Ian keeps his promise to fulfill all of Mickey's desires. But just how much has Ian given before Mickey?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *takes breath* here's some sex and fluff because I said there would be and I'm sorry for taking so long to update!

Mickey woke up alone the next day. His limbs were tangled in the sheets and they had a pleasant ache to them. He felt tired, probably from the change in timezone, but he felt good. He smiled to himself, looking up at the giant four-poster he and Ian had slept in. He looked around at the room and the light pouring in from the windows was even more magnificent than the first time he saw them. The sun sparkled on the chandelier. He sat up and stretched, rubbing his eyes and face. He'd long since stopped thinking it was all a dream sometime in the night when Ian wrapped himself around him and buried his face between his shoulder blades. He got out of bed and checked the fancy clock on the wall that had big diamonds where the numbers should be. He shook his head, grinning because it was all so over the top and ridiculous, but he was actually liking it a lot. Mandy would definitely be jealous when he sent her pictures. Maybe she'd even forget about him avoiding her questions about Ian. Right now he just wanted to know where Ian was.

He left the room after taking a piss and finding some boxers. He wandered around, taking it all in once again and noticing small details he'd missed. It really was a beautiful penthouse in a beautiful place, and when he found Ian in the butler's kitchen cooking, he looked beautiful too. Mickey smiled walking over and greeting him with a kiss.

"Morning," he said.

Ian took his face in his hands and kissed him fiercely, poking his tongue against Mickey's lips until he opened them for him. Mickey moaned happily, wrapping his arms around Ian's neck and pulling him closer against him. Ian had on boxers and a shirt that looked old and worn. It was faded and frayed in places, and there was no sign of a designer logo. It felt soft and smelled like Ian, and Mickey wondered how long he'd had it. He wanted to know the story of this shirt so that he could know more about the man who was now looking at him with the biggest stupidest grin.

"What?" Mickey chuckled, stepping back and dropping his hands to Ian's waist.

"I was waiting for you, so we could have brunch on the terrace. It's really nice out," Ian said. He leaned in and pecked Mickey's lips before turning and grabbing a tray full of food and leading the way.

"Did you make all this?" Mickey asked, following behind him and squinting when they stepped outside. Ian set the tray down and pulled his chair out. Mickey took it and started grabbing for the plate of eggs and sausages.

"Had the bread and fruit delivered fresh this morning. The rest I just threw together," he laughed, as though the food in front of them were anything but restaurant quality.

Mickey took a bite of toast covered in eggs and moaned as he chewed. "You could've just ordered room service, you know," he teased. He took a sip of the coffee and it was better than anything he'd ever made in his shitty coffee pot with the burned bottom. "Stayed in bed with me," he added, looking down at his plate so Ian couldn't see how pathetic he sounded.

Ian frowned, taking his hand and kissing it. "I'm sorry, Mickey. You know I love being in bed with you. I wanted to cook for you. We can stay in bed for the rest of this vacation if you want."

Mickey blushed, turning a deep red shade like he was rapidly tanning. He bit his lip and looked at Ian. Mickey wouldn't mind that. He wants that all the time; being in bed with Ian whether there was sex or not. It'd actually been getting harder and harder to sleep alone the more he realized how much he loved having Ian near him in the night. It sounds like a fabulous idea, made even more so by the fact Ian is completely serious. Mickey shakes his head, though.

"We got time for that," he smiles. Ian brightens again, picking up a blackberry and holding it out for him. Mickey opens his mouth and lets him put it on his tongue. He's never had a blackberry in his life, but he trusts Ian.

When they finish eating they move to the lounge chairs and relax for a while. It feels good not to have to do anything or go anywhere. Mickey's never had a real vacation, but he thinks that's what it's all about. It feels good to have no worries and be somewhere different, especially with someone like Ian. They could be at a Motel 6 in Arkansas and Mickey would still have a good time, but he's not going to fucking tell Ian that. Not with the amazing view and the slight breeze. Ian hasn't taken a call since they got there and that makes Mickey feel even better.

"What do you want to do today?" Ian asks with a grin, as he straddles Mickey's lap.

Mickey grips his hips and bucks up playfully, catching his eyes. "This place got a gym? I feel like a fatass."

Ian leans down, the movement rubbing his ass against Mickey's dick. "Well, we could fuck...or we could go for a walk," he suggests, nosing at Mickey's neck.

Mickey hums, half from the sensation of Ian's lips sucking at his skin and half pretending Ian hasn't made the decision for them. He runs his hands up Ian's chest under his shirt and tweaks his nipples, making Ian gasp. They find each other's mouths for a moment, content with kissing and touching out in the open. No worries, just each other. Eventually it gets more intense and they start grinding against each other, moaning and breathing hard. Ian gets up, pulling Mickey just inside the doors to the terrace and backing him against the wall. He sinks to his knees, taking Mickey's boxers with him, then immediately takes him in his mouth. Mickey's head falls back against the wall with a thump. He groans and fists Ian's hair, tugging as he sucks him deep into his throat. This is what he'd been wanting that morning; Ian's mouth, Ian's hands,  
Ian's warmth...Ian. And it seems like Ian is determined to make it up to him, as he bobs and flicks his tongue over the head. Mickey arches off the wall when he massages his balls with one hand while the other slides dry fingers over his hole. It doesn't take long for Mickey to come hard down his throat. His knees go weak and Ian helps him over to the couch, guiding him so he's bent over the back. Then Ian's on his knees again, lapping at his asshole with fat quick licks, and Mickey can't catch his breath. He cries out, keening when he feels fingers enter him. Even though he just came, his dick twitches. Ian keeps eating him until he's got saliva running down his balls and the back of his thighs. Mickey begs for him to hurry up; his whining and pleading echoing in the large room. Ian doesn't disappoint him, pulling his boxers down just enough that he can get his dick out and ready. He pushes in slowly, commenting how open Mickey still is from the night before. Mickey preens at the praise and reaches back to pull him in deeper faster. Ian fucks him good. So good. It's everything. Mickey comes again just before Ian and can barely even move. Ian carries him to a different room than the one they slept in last night. It's pretty and blue, and Ian lays him on the queen bed and cuddles him until they  
fall asleep. When they wake up it's early evening.

"I want to take you somewhere," Ian says, kissing Mickey everywhere, then adds, "...if you want to."

It's really not even fair because all Mickey can do is nod and smile. He'd go to the edge of an active volcano with Ian.

"Yeah, I want to. Let's go."

Ian laughs, smelling Mickey's skin. "We should maybe dress first."

Mickey snorts, biting his lip. "I guess."

They dress and find themselves back in the grand lobby. Ian hasn't let go of his hand since they left the penthouse, and he leads them to an area of shops in the hotel. They range from high end jewelry and expensive art stores, to a shop with simple gifts. Ian takes him to one that they're obviously not buying tacky keychains from. A man with an Italian accent greets Ian by name, and Mickey has to try really hard not to think it's because he's been here many times before and probably with other people. The man is talking to him, explaining that they are the most [exclusive brand](http://vendettablu.com/) in the world and offer men's elegant casual wear. Mickey doesn't know what the fuck that means, but he gets that everything there is supposed to make you look like you play golf with Trump and have dinner with Gates. Ian knows it's not his style, but he tells him to pick what he likes. Mickey looks around, as Ian tries things on. Everything looks amazing on him because he actually looks the part. Ian probably has hung out with a few politician's sons. That doesn't make him feel better because most of them turn out to be gay. The accessories don't really do it for him either. He's never worn cuff-links in his life and he doesn't plan on wearing anything else on his arm besides the bracelet Ian gave him. Mickey wonders how much jewelry Ian's bought for other guys and he feels a little sick. Ian notices his face and asks if he wants to check out the other shops. Mickey's about to apologize for his weird behavior when something catches his eye. It's a [black leather jacket](http://vendettablu.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/04/Vendetta_by_Tev_Lee_Photography_15-1.jpg) with stitching and a cool design.

"Try it on," Ian says, suddenly behind him and smiling encouragingly.

It fits him perfectly and it's the only one. It looks good on him and he feels good in it.

"You look fucking sexy, baby," Ian says, kissing him quickly on the lips.

Mickey blushes. He barely has time to tell Ian he wants it before he's pulling out a credit card and handing it to the man. It makes his knees feel like jelly just like when Ian made him come earlier. There's not even a tag on the jacket. It feels so good to have Ian spending a mystery amount of money on him that he almost misses him tell the man to add two cigars to the tab.

"They're Cuban, aged for about forty years," Ian explains.

Mickey's had a cigar before, but something about the way Ian says that tells him these are more than the low-quality ones made in the states after the embargo. And Mickey's surprised he remembers that from school but he listens as Ian tells him anyway. He's so smart.

They don't even leave with any bags because everything gets taken back to the penthouse with a hefty tip to a lucky bellboy. Ian takes his hand again and they walk around some more. Mickey doesn't really pay attention to anything else but Ian. His mind goes back to that black credit card; hard and thick and powerful enough to make things happen. It reminds him of Ian's dick and suddenly he doesn't feel like seeing any part of the hotel but their room. And Ian seems to feel the same because he's been looking at Mickey like he wants to rip his new leather jacket off. As soon as they get back to the eighth floor, he does just that. Mickey makes a semi-fake, scandalized noise when it crumples to the floor, but Ian picks him up and makes him laugh all the way to the blue room. They slow way down this time, though, sharing control. They kiss mostly, touching and stroking and caressing each other. When they're done, Ian stays in bed with him until they're hungry. They order room service and eat it in bed. Ian makes Mickey model his jacket with nothing else on, and Mickey doesn't object. Ian looks mesmerized by him and he loves it. When Ian smacks and grabs his ass, it turns into a wrestling match which turns into tickling and giggling. Ian grabs their cigars and they head to the top floor private pool that's big enough to do laps in. They jump in naked, playing around and racing each other in the warm water. Ian backs him into a corner and Mickey wraps his legs around him, feeling weightless and so happy. They make out, kissing long and slow and hugging each other close.

"Did you have a good day, Mickey?" Ian asks, pulling back slightly and running his hand through Mickey's wet hair and down his face. He smoothes the water droplets on his cheek.

Mickey nods. He can't really put into words just how much Ian bringing him here means to him. He feels like nothing could ever go wrong here, and that should be scary to him because he knows it's not true, but Ian makes him feel so confident. It's hard to think about other guys that might've been where he is when Ian is looking at him like he's the only one that actually matters. He reminds himself that it is him who Ian's here with and it's comforting and satisfies his stupid, jealous heart. Mickey closes his eyes and lets Ian pet him and kiss him. When he cuts and lights their cigars, it's the perfect ending to their evening. And fuck if Ian doesn't look good with one in his mouth and blowing smoke like a big-shot. Mickey knows he's not really like that, but it looks good on him. It gets his dick riled up somehow after a whole day of sex. Ian smiles at him. Mickey blows smoke through his nose and smiles back.

The view from the pool makes him feel high up, but Ian makes him feel like he's on top of the world.


	9. Power Play

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian takes Mickey to the car show and shows him what money can buy. Mickey goes on the ride of his life, but can't handle it when the crash comes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you don't care or know about cars, don't worry :)

The day of the car show, Mickey wakes up to a note from Ian telling him he's gone to the gym and to order whatever he wants while he's gone. There's a little heart next to his name, as if Mickey wouldn't know who wrote it, and Mickey doesn't know what to make of it. Ian's never actually said the words, but does a heart say them either? Mickey orders a stack of pancakes and a glass of orange juice to mull it over. Halfway to a any clue about how Ian feels about him, his mind drifts to what Ian looks like working out. He's probably all sweaty and his muscles are bulging. He imagines his dick bouncing in his shorts and decides to take advantage of being alone. He showers after and gets dressed, then goes to the tiled room to play pool while he waits. He's used to Ian spending hours exercising and he has no complaints on his body. He especially likes when all the blood pumping and endorphin makes Ian extra horny and clingy. He's pulled out of his thoughts when his phone rings. It's Mandy.

"You too busy and rich to call your sister now?" she says, starting in on him right off the bat.

Mickey puts her on speaker and lines up a shot. "Hi, Mandy." He makes two in a corner pocket.

"What's that noise?"

"Playing pool. What do you want?"

She scoffs. "Oh, just wanted to know if my brother, whom I love and cherish, was still alive on his vacation."

Mickey sighs, watching several balls bounce around each other but none go in. "I'm fine."

"Yeah, I bet you are. Where are you even staying?"

"Fairmont penthouse suite," Mickey answers casually. He knows resisting is futile. It only takes her seconds to search online and then she gasps.

"You're staying here? You fucking lucky son of a bitch! Oh my God!"

"I love and cherish you too, Mandy," Mickey rolls his eyes. He makes three more shots while she rambles on and asks question after question. It all culminates in her forcing him to give her a video tour. He fights her at first, not wanting to be embarrassed if Ian came back and saw him, but she wears him down to the point he can't stand her shrieking in his ear. He shows her every inch of the place, including the library, pool, and helipad. She claims to be disgusted by all of it, going on a mini-tirade about over-indulgence and the 1%, but she quickly changes tune when Mickey shows her the view. With the city and the bay spread out in shitty camera-view, she actually goes quiet for a minute.

"Wow."

Mickey can't help but smile to himself. "I know."

"You know...I'm happy for you, Mick," Mandy says when Mickey is back inside. Somehow he finds himself sitting at the huge dinning room table. He thinks he hears Ian and is happy when he hears him call out for him. He doesn't answer, though.

"Yeah, yeah...you just want me to bring you back something," Mickey deflects, knowing full well that the tone of his sister's voice was far from manipulative.

"No, Mickey, I really am. I know I was giving you a hard time, but...you know, I was looking out for you. I didn't get how you could be swept up by someone you hardly know, but the way Ian treats you...I get it," she explains.

Mickey can still hear Ian searching for him, but Mandy's words make him lose his ability to speak for a moment. She's right about him not knowing Ian, and it reminds him why he wanted to go on the trip...that and to be with Ian. It makes him feel guilty that they still haven't talked, but it does make him feel good to hear that she recognizes that Ian makes him happy. He almost wants to tell her about the cryptic little heart Ian left, but he's still not sure about it himself. Maybe it wasn't supposed to mean anything just yet, but Mickey hoped it would soon.

Mickey clears his throat. "Thanks," he says quietly. Then, because he can't take the genuine sentimental moment, he adds, "Shouldn't you be sleeping, bitch? What time is it there?"

Mandy laughs, understanding what Mickey is doing and going along with it. "I was up anyway, waiting for Jack to get off work."

"Who?"

She sighs. "Jack, my boyfriend."

"For the week or...?" Mickey teases.

"Fuck you. Just cause you got a man..." she trails off, laughing.

And Mickey can tell that the guy is worth something because she's on the defensive. He hopes she's happy too.

Ian pokes his head around a corner and breaks into a grin at the sight of Mickey. He comes over and kisses him, smelling like dried sweat. His mouth tastes like vanilla protein.

"Ew, are you guys kissing? have you even left the hotel since you got there?"

"Nope," Mickey laughs. Ian is smiling at him, keeping quiet so he can focus on the call. It makes Mickey think of all the times he sat like a good boy and waited for him to get off the phone with some big-wig. He kind of likes that the roles are reversed now. Ian takes his hand and is patient. His hair is stuck to his head and it makes him look younger and innocent. It makes Mickey think of Ian as a teenager in school and he wants to know what that looked like.

"Ugh, leave it to you to waste a good vacation. Alright, I think I hear Jack's keys. Gotta go." She sounds eager and Mickey makes a point to grill her about her boyfriend later.

"Bye, Mandy." He hangs up and Ian perks up like a puppy.

"Did you miss me, baby?"

"Mhm." Mickey pulls him forward by his neck and rewards him with a kiss. He's surprised how much he enjoyed Ian in his position for the short time.

"I thought we could shower together, but I see you're already dressed." Ian pouts.

Mickey runs his finger over his poked out lip. "Sorry. I didn't know. Maybe later?"

Ian nods, happy once again. "Okay. Give me ten minutes and then we'll go, alright? You excited?"

"Yeah, man. Been looking for a new car," Mickey jokes.

Ian laughs. "Then let's go find you one."

An hour later, they pull up to the convention center and the line is out the door. There are crowds of people and food trucks. There are some cars displayed outside that people are taking pictures with. They're let out of the towncar and Ian takes Mickey right past everyone and inside to a VIP area. There's no line but it's blocked off by security guards. Ian walks up to a booth and puts on the charm, as he gives his and Mickey's names. The woman smiles and checks them off a list, handing them two passes and directing them towards the main hall doors. When they get inside, it's massive and carpeted and bright. There's about ten lights on each car, making them shine and glint like a Star Trek film.There are models at a few of them, smiling with white teeth and big hair. The only people on the floor are ones with the same passes that they have. Ian explains that the public will be let in an hour after, and Mickey can't say he feels bad at all when they can actually move around the hall without bumping into anyone. The music is loud and Mickey can hear a guy on a mic giving a presentation. They're handed bags full of goodies at the door and a map with all the exhibits.

Mickey's eyes roam everywhere as he takes in each and every car. It smells like tires and popcorn. It's amazing. Mickey's passed car lots and this is nothing compared to what he's seeing. As they walk the floor, Ian tells him about some of the cars. They take pictures of each other and with each other, and of the cars. Mickey never knew there were so many car names and brands. Even the standard Ford's and Kia's look exciting all buffed and in their best light. Mickey sits at the wheel of a Ferrari and looks under the hood of an Aston Martin. He poses for a picture under the winged door of a Lamborghini. Ian's into the luxury cars and admits he's only ever been in a Maybach once while in Dubai. They sit in the back of the latest version anyway. Ian tells him his first car he bought was a Mercedes, and he looks so proud of himself. Mickey doesn't even care that his first car he paid for was a piece of shit Honda. There's a section full of old, antique cars and Mickey actually asks a few questions, intrigued by the designs and colors. Ian looks on, smiling at how interested Mickey is. They don't even really notice when the crowds come in, they're having so much fun. They take a break in the VIP lounge, getting sandwiches and beers. They talk animatedly about what they've already seen, looking at their pictures and planning where they'll go next. When they finish, they make their way to the future-tech presentation and are blown away. Mickey could spend hours there, walking around with Ian and looking at cool shit. Ian spends some time looking at a Lexus that's the only one of its kind, and comes away smiling. He gives Mickey a wink and Mickey can't help but flush at the price and the fact it didn't matter to Ian.

As Ian talks to a few vendors, Mickey wanders over to another car surrounded by people. When he gets closer, his eyes go wide. The [car](http://www.bugatti.com/m/chiron-en.php) is fucking beautiful for sure. It's shiny and the interior is nice. He reads the specs on the display and can't help but whistle. He's not sure exactly what all of it means, but it basically boils down to the car is fast and expensive as hell. Mickey can't take his eyes off of it. Ian comes up behind him and kisses his neck.

"Like what you see?"

Mickey nods, still a little speechless. "It's nice." That's the only word he can come up with for it, but it doesn't cover it at all.

Ian chuckles, getting a closer look at the information. "Ah. Nice," he agrees playfully. "Thinking of buying it?"

Mickey snorts. "Yeah, let me just go to an ATM."

"What color?" Ian asks.

Mickey knows Ian is just humoring him, although it's not exactly funny how much he wishes he could buy the car. He didn't expect to get so attached and yet he's actually counting how long it would take him to get enough money for a down-payment. Did they even take payments for cars made to never be seen by anyone below the poverty line? He almost let slip to Ian that his last paycheck couldn't even afford one rim. He sighs, turning away from it before he actually cries.

"Red. Like your hair," he teases, ruffling Ian's hair.

Ian laughs. He kisses him like he senses maybe Mickey is a bit sad. "Guess what we're doing now?"

"What?" Mickey asks, looking back at the car one last time, as Ian pulls him away.

"I got us a test drive." Ian grins at him, leading him towards the back of the convention and outside. There's a course set up with cones and there are about seven different sports cars to choose from. There's only two other guys waiting for their turn, and one of them has a girl on his arm Mickey swore was modeling a car earlier. Mickey can hear a car in the distance as it speeds around the lot. It’s pretty fucking cool.

“You pick,” Ian says, guiding him over to the choices. He’s smiling wide and he looks excited. It’s contagious and makes Mickey laugh with glee.

Mickey looks at the cars. Some of them are the same models but they’re all a different color. Most of them have flashy paint jobs with racing stripes. There’s a black one with silver trim that has the windows tinted, and Mickey sort of gravitates to it for some reason. It looks nice ass hell and he wants to see what it can do. He points and Ian gives him a mischievous grin.

“Here are the keys, Mr. Gallagher,” a man says, handing them over.

Mickey is surprised. He thought for sure they would have professionals doing the driving, especially with the speeds these kinds of cars can get up to. It makes him at bit nervous now, as he watches an official looking driver step out of the car that had gone ahead of them.

“I pulled some strings,” Ian informs him, placing his hand on the small of Mickey’s back and ushering him towards the car. As he opens Mickey’s door for him, he leans in and whispers, “I was hoping you would choose this one.”

Mickey doesn’t know what he means as he slides into the cloth seat. He watches Ian slip the man a wad of cash before getting into the driver side, and can’t remember ever seeing that much physical money. As much as he loves the plastic, he wouldn’t mind rolling around on some real paper bills for once. He wonders what Ian would say if he asked, then feels silly for thinking he wouldn’t do it for him immediately. He’s a bit disappointed not to be the one testing the car, but he’s never seen Ian drive before and he’s curious. He hasn’t exactly had a car to drive in a while either, so maybe it’s better Ian handles the wheel. He expects Ian to turn it on but instead he looks contemplative for a second. His hand is in his pocket, holding onto something as he thinks. Mickey wants to ask what the holdup is but then Ian’s looking at him with intense eyes. He licks his lips and finally removes his hand from his pocket.

“I got you this on my run this morning. There’s a shop…,” he starts to explain, then blushes, smiling fondly at a memory. “When you had that plug in you that first day…and I didn’t know, but God, baby, it was so hot. I wanted to surprise you with this.” He opens his hand and shows Mickey a small, silver toy.

Mickey’s eyes go wide and he feels heat flood his face and his dick. He’s hard in seconds and it makes his head spin. He suddenly feels way too hot in his leather jacket.

“You got this for me?” His voice is already deep with lust and shakey. He licks his lips and swallows to keep from moaning. Ian seems to notice his reaction and he gets a devilish look in his eyes.

Ian nods. “I want you to put it in you.”  
He says it so confidently, Mickey let’s out a gasp that’s more incredulous than surprised.

“N-now?” Mickey looks around.

“They can’t see in here.”

Mickey swallows again. He’s starting to sweat. Somehow his hand finds his crotch and pushes down. It feels so good his eyes flutter.

“Fuck, Mickey,” Ian moans. “You don’t qhave to. We can use it later or never or-“

Mickey grabs it out of his hand and looks him in the eyes, as he undoes his pants frantically. Ian hands him a little packet of warming lube and he almost cries. Ian’s so romantic. He slicks up the toy he now recognizes as a prostate massager, then raises up enough to get his hand down the back of his pants. Ian watches him, stroking his hand along the inside of his own pant leg where his cock is trapped. Mickey presses the tip to his hole and hisses as it slides in with a little extra force. It fits nicely, stretching him just enough to be pleasurable without being overwhelming. It’s a nice size and rests snuggly against his prostate. He presses the little button once and it comes to life, vibrating gently inside him.

“Oooh, fuu…,” Mickey moans, closing his eyes. He lowers himself back to sitting and shivers when it presses in deeper. “Mmh, God.”

“Feel good?” Ian asks, voice rough and low.

Mickey nods fast. “Real good. Fuck.” His heart is pounding.

“So hot.” Ian yanks him into a sloppy kiss, tongue chasing Mickey’s and sucking on his lips. He pulls away and finally puts the key in the ignition. “It’s about to get even better.” He turns the key and the engines turns over and roars to life. It’s loud and rumbling and vibrates the whole car.

“Holy shit! Oh fuck!” Mickey pants, feeling the V8 engine right in his ass where the toy is also working him. He grips the door handle and lets his head fall back against the headrest. The combination sensations on the bundle of nerves inside him has him shaking. He’s flush and breathing harder the longer they sit idling. He squirms and clenches, feeling the toy move and stimulate his walls. It feels so good he can’t help but reach for his dick. He squeezes hard around it, trying to keep from exploding. Ian revs the engine, pressing the gas and easing off repeatedly, and Mickey whimpers.

“You like that, baby?” Ian asks, doing it again just to see Mickey react.

It’s almost too much. Mickey writhes, cursing breathlessly. He doesn’t know what he likes more, the car or the silver toy doing wonders deep inside him. “Ian, fuck…fucking go.”

Ian chuckles, shifting into drive and punching the gas. The car takes off, almost hitting forty miles per hour instantly. Ian takes the course going sixty and the car still isn’t done accelerating. The car is fast and powerful, handling easily and turning quickly. Ian drives it like he’s done it before and is clearly having fun. He occasionally looks over at Mickey, grinning like a kid but turned on like an adult. The whole time Ian’s speeding around in the muscle car, Mickey can feel his dick leaking like a faucet. It makes a wet spot in his jeans that Ian rubs. Mickey arches, feeling his fingers barely touching the head of his dick. He’s so sensitive, a sharp turn makes his hips jerk. Before Ian laps the course again, he leaves the car idling long enough to make Mickey have a prostate orgasm. He spasms and moans, feeling the stickiness in his boxers. The toy is still going when Ian starts again, driving even faster than before. He jerks the car slightly and the toy shifts inside Mickey enough to make him spill a second time. Ian praises him, barely keeping his eyes on the road. His right hand leaves the wheel and goes straight for his own dick, easing some of the pain of being restricted. Ian seems to be getting off on the simultaneous thrill of the fast car and the hot sexual act, and it’s making Mickey lose it. He comes a fourth time and is trembling by the time Ian pulls the car back to the start.

“Off…turn it off, please,” Mickey pleads. There are tears in his eyes and he can feel another orgasm building. It hurts so good, Mickey can’t get his limbs to work right. “Please,” he cries, screwing his eyes shut as he shudders through another wave of bittersweet pleasure.

Ian quickly cuts the engine and gives Mickey all of his attention. “It’s okay. I got you, you’re alright, Mickey.” The absence of the noise of the engine makes the still vibrating toy easily heard. He watches as Mickey reaches to pull it out with weak movements and finally relaxes into the seat. “I’m sorry. It was too much. You okay?”

Mickey looks at him and nods. “Fucking wrecked, man.” And he actually laughs. It’s more of a lazy giggle, really. He holds up the toy and grins happily. “You trying to kill me?”

Ian chuckles. “No, Mickey, but you almost got me. God, you’re so beautiful. Fuck, the way you looked…the way you look right now.” He pulls Mickey to him, crushing their lips together in a kiss that goes from heated to sweet. He caresses his face, lifting his chin to keep the kiss going. He sucks at his lips and feels Mickey shiver. “I love it,” Ian whispers against his mouth.

Mickey tenses. It’s not exactly what he’s wanted to hear but it’s pretty damn close. His mind gets stuck on the love part and the way Ian looks like he didn’t just literally drive him crazy. He looks sweet and innocent and invested in Mickey. And something in his eyes and the tone makes Mickey feel like maybe Ian means he loves something else too. He kisses him again, cupping the back of his neck. He runs his hand through red hair and tugs slightly. Ian hums and rests their foreheads together.

“You’re amazing. Mickey. I’m glad I met you.” Ian says it so quietly and just to him.

Mickey doesn’t know what to say, so he says, “Me too.” He hopes it’s enough and is relieved when Ian smiles and kisses him again.

They get out of the car and Mickey takes his jacket off to cover his pants until they get back in the towncar and head to the hotel. Mickey is exhausted when they reach the penthouse. The day has taken a toll on him both mentally and physically and he just wants to lie down. Ian coaxes him into a shower, washing him thoroughly and taking care of him. It’s overwhelming how gentle Ian is with him. By the time he lays down on the king sized bed in the third room, he can’t control his thoughts. He loves Ian so much and he just wants to know if Ian feels the same, except he feels like he already does. It’s so confusing and Mickey fucking hates that he feels conflicted. Being with Ian has made him feel so good but he feels like they’re stuck at just good. He recalls what Mandy said earlier about the way Ian treats him, and he wants to believe she was right. He just wants to know for sure and he doesn’t know how to ask. He doesn’t want to hurt Ian by questioning what they have. He would feel awful. But he has so many things he still doesn’t know about Ian, he feels terrible for keeping things from him too. Ian is cuddled up close to him and yet he feels like something is missing.

Ian kisses him awake hours later. The sun is just dipping to night and the light makes Ian’s eyes shine as he looks down at him.

“I want to show you something,” he says, pulling Mickey out of the bed.

And despite all Mickey’s turmoil, he follows him until they end up outside the hotel.

Sitting in front is the Bugatti from earlier.

“I hope blue is okay…like your eyes,” Ian says, holding out the keys to Mickey.  
It feels like Mickey can’t breathe or think for a solid minute. Somehow his brain gets his hand to open to accept the keys. Ian takes his hips and makes him face him. He brushes a piece of hair from Mickey’s face and looks him in his eyes.

“I meant what I said. I want you to be happy, Mickey. I want you to have it all because you deserve it and I…you’re so special to me. You have to know that.”

Mickey nods slowly. His heart feels light and heavy at the same time. His eyes burn, but he blinks it away. He licks his lips and Ian rubs his thumb against them. Mickey doesn’t know what he ever did to deserve any of what Ian has done to his life.

“I don’t understand,” is all he can say to himself, but Ian hears and thinks he means what’s currently happening instead of what’s happened the last four months.

“I got this for you… Is that okay?” Ian looks unsure and concerned with Mickey’s subdued reaction.

Mickey honestly thinks he wouldn’t be able to take any more surprises from Ian for the rest of his life. It finally hits him that Ian took note of how much he liked the car and somehow made it his. It hits him so hard he falls into Ian and he catches him, holding on tight.

He doesn’t really pay attention to what happens next. He feels Ian take the keys and hears him tell valet to park it next to the other one…the Lexus. He doesn’t come back to reality until Ian is laying him on the bed, and even then it takes Ian undressing him and spreading his thighs to fully register his own body. He clings to Ian, as he pushes and pulls him apart like he’s the most important person in the world. They fall asleep, but Mickey wakes up alone. He wraps the sheets around him and goes to find Ian. It’s late and he needs him in order to go back to sleep. He searches until he hears his voice coming from the library. He opens the door and sees Ian on the phone. His tone is hushed and his demeanor is relaxed like it’s not a business call. And when he laughs, his shoulders shaking and a grin playing at his lips, Mickey’s heart sinks so far down it feels like it’ll never come up again. Mickey stands there, like a good boy, until Ian finishes the call. It doesn’t make him feel good at all, and he’s quickly reminded of all his worries from before. Ian turns and looks surprised to see him and nervous. He comes over and Mickey steps back.

“Baby—“

“Who was that?” Mickey asks.

Ian takes too long to answer. “Mickey, let’s—“

“Who was on the phone, Ian?”

Ian looks like he wants to explain or come closer, but he just looks at Mickey and tells him.

"Kenny."

 


	10. Material Hurl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey is determined to keep things from spiraling out of control, but soon finds out all his efforts may be lost at sea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm soo sorry for this!

Mickey sleeps in the blue room, his favorite, alone that night and it sucks. Every time he closes his eyes he sees Ian’s hurt face, but what the fuck was he supposed to do? They hadn’t yelled or fought, but he was still hurt. Ian explained but how could Mickey trust what he was saying? So many questions went through his head that he lie awake for hours it seemed. And maybe a few tears slipped out onto his pillow, but he was mostly angry at himself for crying when what he really should be doing was fighting. Not his normal kind with fists flying til they bled; he would never raise a hand to Ian. But he had to do something or this guy was going to get what he wanted…whatever it was. Mickey wasn’t even sure. Part of him wanted to listen calmly and rationally to the fact Ian and he were just friends now. It wasn’t unheard of but it also wasn’t nothing.

Basically they were only on this trip because of Kenny. He used to be the one standing next to the cars like a piece of meat, now it was his first year being a major sponsor. He’d gotten them the VIP passes. Looking back on the achievements of his life, Mickey still can’t believe he got his high school diploma but that said more about Chicago public schools than him as a student. He quickly steered his mind away from comparing himself to the guy because it would be oranges to rotten crab apples. But still it was hard not to be impressed. He wasn’t ugly either. All bad things, but somehow that made Mickey want to prove himself even more to Ian. Maybe Ian was waiting for him to show him more until he himself did. Mickey was up to the challenge if that’s how they were going to play this. He knew if he tried to make a big deal about this, Ian would only turn away from him. Ian was going on the guy’s boat the next day, so Mickey made a decision.

The next morning, he found Ian out on the terrace. Ian immediately stood up but held himself back from approaching Mickey if he was still mad. He slipped his phone into his pocket to hide the evidence. It only made Mickey more determined.

“There’s yogurt…and muffins, if you want,” Ian said quietly, gesturing to the table. He looked tired, like he hadn’t slept any better than Mickey and Mickey wanted to apologize for even suggesting they needed some space. Ian looked like a kicked puppy trying to walk on eggshells.

“I want to go with you,” he says.

Ian looks surprised, his eyebrows going up and his eyes getting wide. Mickey can practically see his brain trying to work out if it’s a trap or not.

“Calm down, admiral Ahkbar. I’ve never been on a boat. It could be…fun.”

Ian smiles a little after another minute but still doesn’t move towards Mickey, so Mickey goes to him. He takes his face and kisses him, attempting to say sorry without having to say sorry. And he feels better when Ian kisses him back and wraps his arm around his waist. He breathes easier pressed close to Ian’s chest and almost doesn’t want to let go, but Ian pulls away when his phone buzzes. He hesitates to answer, looking to Mickey with so much shame it hurts to look at.

“Answer. It’s fine,” Mickey says, distracting himself by sitting down to eat something. When Ian still doesn’t move and misses the call, Mickey almost wants to smile triumphantly, but he finds himself saying, “Call him back.”

Ian nods, coming over and kissing Mickey’s cheek before leaving the terrace. Mickey looks out at the view, finding the water they’d soon be on. There’s a sort of fog over the city but he can just make out the perfect line of blue between the buildings. It calms him. He and Ian are fine…for now. He knows it’s not as easy as a hug and kiss. There’s still so much they need to talk about, but Mickey’s running out of time. He thought it would be easy to get serious in paradise, but now everything is getting muddy. It scares him to think how he’s fucked up before he’s even begun. How will Ian react if he admits he hasn’t exactly been honest either? How will he trust Mickey enough to tell him the truth? Whatever that truth may be. Mickey eats because it numbs his mind, and soon they’re in the car on their way to the marina.

When they arrive, Mickey is in awe of how beautiful the water actually is. He’s never seen the ocean before and it’s even more breathtaking than he thought. There’s a breeze that comes off of it and hits him in the face with a strong salty smell, but it’s refreshing. The waves lap gently at the harbor edge as boats move in and out of the docks. Seagulls overhead squawk and swoop around. Mickey’s eyes don’t know what to focus on, so he looks to Ian. He’s got his Marc Jacobs sunglasses on and his comfortable linen. He looks adorably and charmingly douchey, and Mickey has to laugh.

“What?” Ian smiles, knowing exactly what but wanting Mickey to say it. He takes his hand and leads him down a maze of boat slips. He looks back at him and cocks an eyebrow.

Mickey chuckles, gripping his hand tighter because he can kind of feel the water moving the planks under them. “This is fucking awesome.”

Ian grins. “Just wait.” He looks just as excited as Mickey feels, but Mickey knows it has more to do with his reaction. Mickey is sure Ian’s been on a boat before, but he doesn’t let himself wonder whose or who with. He also ignores the way his stomach feels, as they walk up a platform and onto a small boat.

“Afternoon, Mr. Gallagher, Mr. Milkovich,” a guy greets them.

“How are you, Blake?” Ian shakes his hand and gives a nod.

Mickey is confused. Kenny is nowhere in sight and the boat looks like a typical one you’d see anywhere. It’s nothing special and he almost wants to ask if this is it, but Blake goes back to the wheel and starts the engine.

“Ready?” He asks, but he’s already steering away from the docks.

Ian guides Mickey over to the seats and puts his arm around him. “Blake works for Kenny. He’s giving us a ride,” he explains.

And Mickey hears him, but there’s blood rushing in his ears and he feels warm. He inhales and the smell of the water is strong enough to hit him not like it had before. He can feel every wave under the boat as they speed along, and it makes his insides slosh around. He swallows and nods and tries to not think about it. They slow down as a bigger boat…no, a yacht comes into view. Of course it’s a yacht. Blake helps them climb up a ladder onto it and they’re met by the man himself.

Kenny pulls Ian up by the hand and into a hug. “Ian. So glad you could come.”

Ian smiles easily, hugging him back. “Not everyday you turn twenty-nine, man.” Kenny laughs, finally letting him go.

Mickey almost loses his footing on a rung, looking up at their interaction. He feels a little dizzy, so when Kenny offers his hand he reaches out and takes it, just wanting to be on solid footing quicker. When he steps onto the deck, though, his legs still feel like jelly. He swallows and feels a cold chill up his spine. Kenny leans down slightly to look at his face, smile faltering a bit.

“You okay, Mickey?” He asks, alerting Ian to Mickey’s state as well.

Mickey wants to say no because his stomach rolls and he wants to sit down, but he can’t lose already. Kenny is standing there, taller than him like Ian, dressed in linen like Ian. Most of his shirt buttons are undone and show smooth muscle with just a hint of hair. This is his fucking boat in the middle of the ocean and there’s ice buckets of champagne waiting to be opened. There’s a damn hot tub surrounded by leather seating. Even his hand felt nice and strong but soft. Ian is standing beside him and the sun makes them look good together, like a photoshoot. No, he can’t tap out that easily. So, he makes an excuse.

“First time on a boat.” And that’s all he can get out before he needs to swallow again; the telltale bile creeping up his throat, threatening to bring his breakfast back.

Kenny nods, Ian’s eyes linger on Mickey for one more moment before focusing on Kenny. It stings like the burning inside Mickey. Kenny gives them a tour, showing them the lower area with two rooms and a kitchen. He introduces them to the chef and other crew members. They find the captain at the helm and he’s an older Jamaican man named Ban, with a bright smile and funny jokes. Mickey follows behind, listening and trying to have a good time. It really is a beautiful boat, he can’t deny that. It’s not as huge as it looked before, which gives him a little boost in confidence, but it’s still an expensive vessel. And even though it is larger, Mickey still feels nauseous when they start moving. He’s never felt this way before, except when he ate some bad leftovers because he was starving one time. He feels clammy but agrees to get in the tub like an idiot, because Ian and Kenny are both climbing in and sitting close.

Mickey sits between them and downs the glass of champagne Kenny gives him, hoping the bubbles might help. They don’t because of the alcohol, which makes Mickey feel worse. He’s got a headache and keeps swallowing. The other men talk over him and laugh and he might as well not be there with both his thighs touching theirs under the water. Kenny’s got his arm stretched out behind him, and he keeps touching Ian. Ian doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest, even though his other hand is on Mickey’s. He has no idea what they’re talking about, but Kenny mentions he can get them into a Ralph Lauren showroom in New York before the chef brings out a tray of hors de’oveurs. Mickey declines but is kind of surprised it’s not caviar and gold flakes on toast from Greece or some shit. Instead he tries to focus really far away on the horizon because he read somewhere that’s supposed to help. It sort of works until Kenny starts talking to him. He hadn’t even noticed Ian go to the bathroom. He briefly thinks about following him but doesn’t want to look like a bitch and he’s not sure where it is.

“You get to drive the Bugatti yet?” He asks, beaming. Probably because he knows he’s the reason Mickey got it in the first place.

Mickey shakes his head and regrets it. “We took the Lexus here.”

And Kenny laughs to himself at that, shaking his head. “Ian certainly has a thing for them.”

And Mickey knows exactly what he’s doing…he thinks. He’s not sure because it’s a harmless fact, of course, but merely the fact that Kenny was with Ian long enough to notice a pattern makes his judgement cloud. Mickey swallows and nods. He has to say something.

“Ian’s changed a lot,” he says, because it’s true. He’s not even the same guy he met at the Asian restaurant that first time. And yeah, maybe Glen has provided most of what he knows about some of Ian’s past, it’s enough to say that he’s grown up since before Mickey.

Kenny doesn’t disagree. He sips his champagne and looks out at the water. It’s quiet but for the bubbling jets and the boat’s motor. Mickey’s stomach feels absolutely awful now and he really wants Ian to come back. For some reason he hasn't kissed him or been overly physical since the boat over. But then Kenny speaks again, looking almost sad and maybe bitter. It’s confusing to Mickey because he glimpses this in his eyes and he knows what he’s feeling…what he’s about to say.

“Maybe, but he’s still got the same problem,” Kenny says, finishing off his glasses and looking at Mickey like he’s trying to warn him.

Mickey gags. He can’t avoid it any longer.

Kenny touches his arm and looks in his eyes. “Hey, you don’t look so good, Mickey”

And the touching and the way he says it and everything is too much.

“Get off me,” he says, before launching himself out of the hot tub. He barely makes it to the side of the yacht just in time to throw up into the ocean below. Everything is spinning as he heaves up his breakfast and the champagne. He hears Kenny get out of the water and come up behind him, reaching out for him. “Don’t!” He says, harsher than he means to, but he can’t think straight and Kenny’s words are making him feel sicker than his brain is at the moment. His stupid body reacts by making him hurl again.

“Mick? Mickey! What’s wrong, baby?” Finally Ian comes back and immediately rushes over. “What happened?” He turns to Kenny with pleading eyes.

“Think he’s seasick. We were talking and then he just…,” Kenny gestures to Mickey’s prone form over the side of the boat.

Ian nods, looking back to Mickey who’s wiping his mouth. He’s got tears in his eyes and stumbles weakly so Ian has to help him. “It’s okay, I got you.”

“Take him to my room. I’ll go get him some water, okay?” Kenny moves off in the direction of the kitchen, touching Ian’s arm as he goes.

“Thank you,” Ian says, guiding Mickey to the lower deck. Once they get to the room, Ian lays him down on the queen-sized bed, pulling the bedding away from Mickey just in case he gets sick again and, God forbid, ruins something of Kenny's. 

But Mickey already feels better being inside and away from the water. He can’t tell he’s on a boat so much and that seems to settle the conflicting messages his body was getting. His stomach still rolls though because Ian knew where Kenny’s room was. He’s been here before with him. Mickey knew but didn’t want to know. He looks around, as Ian gets a cold washcloth for his head. The walls are navy blue and there are white frames on the walls of painted boats and shells and sandy beaches. It’s calming almost. The sheets and pillows are crisp white cotton that feel nice and cool against his over-heated skin. There’s a picture of what Mickey guesses is Kenny with his family. They’re all smiling on the upper deck. There’s two girls Mickey assumes are his sisters. He looks at another picture and almost busts out laughing because it’s Kenny with Mr. Blairs and he wonders if everything between him and Ian has just been a repeat.

He curls in on himself and accepts the soothing cloth Ian puts on his forehead with a kiss. But when he looks at his worried face, all he wonders is if Kenny Yeun ever got seasick. He sips the water Kenny brings and passes out. At some point he wakes up and hears hushed voices.

“How’s he feeling?” Kenny asks, sounding sincere.

“Better, I think. Just needs to sleep it off. Thanks. Sorry about your birthday."

It sounds like Kenny comes closer but Mickey’s not sure.

“It's fine. We should be back soon. There’s cake, if you want.”

“What kind?”

“What do you think?” Kenny teases.

Ian laughs quietly. “Carrot.” Of course Ian knows.

There’s silence. They both shift.

“You really care about him, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Ian says.

“I can tell. You look at him the same way you looked at me.”

“I cared about you too, Kenny,” Ian says but Kenny makes a disbelieving noise. “I did. Really.”

“But?” Kenny waits for Ian to answer but all he does is sigh. “Do you love him?”

More silence. It goes on so long that Mickey thinks he’s going to be sick again. In his head he begs Ian to say yes, to say anything at all. He wants to scream. He knows he loves Ian, so why is it so hard for Ian to answer the question?

Ian swallows and clears his throat. “I don’t know if I can.”

Mickey’s heart feels like it shatters into a million pieces; one for every dollar Ian’s spent on him knowing he couldn’t give him the one thing Mickey wants.

“C’mon. Let’s eat cake,” Kenny says after a moment.

And Ian doesn’t stay. He goes and has his cake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I know things look bleak and this is turning into a nightmare vacation. But just hold on alright? Next chapter will be sooner I hope but still angsty. Don't worry, though, okay? I know Mickey doesn’t deserve this but it'll get better! <3


	11. Crash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian and Mickey’s relationship hits a wall and the vacation comes to an end. But the momentum keeps going, and Mickey’s left to brace for another impact.

Everything’s a blur the second time Mickey wakes up. He’s surprised he could even go back to sleep at all after learning Ian might not feel the same way he does. He hates that he still has hope; hates that even still he’s giving Ian the benefit of the doubt. It’s probably because he’s being so sweet now, helping him get off the boat when they dock. He doesn’t even hug Kenny goodbye, but it’s not enough. Mickey feels numb. As much as it may be the fact he’s still recovering, he knows things are different. It doesn’t feel how it used to. If he could puke again, he would.

“Are you sure you’re feeling better? You still look a bit pale,” Ian says, driving them back to the hotel.

Mickey nods. “I’m fine. Can we open the sunroof?”

“Sure.” Ian hits a button in the Lexus and immediately the little window disappears with a low buzzing sound. Ian keeps looking over at him, so Mickey just closes his eyes. His window is open and it makes a nice breeze flow through the car. The city lights pass over Mickey’s lids like fireflies.

When they get to the penthouse, Mickey heads straight for the shower. Ian was starting to say something but he keeps walking until he’s behind the bathroom door. He knows Ian must feel the change too because he leaves him alone. Mickey brushes his teeth and takes a long, hot shower. He wants to scrub everywhere Kenny touched him, but he doesn’t have the energy and he knows he’s not really mad at the guy. It’s Ian. It’s himself. He finishes up and dries off. The steam and fogged up mirror reflect exactly how he feels. He’s not even sure he’s really feeling at all. Once again his brain and heart are getting mixed messages and his body is reacting. He’s already begun purging himself of Ian…his sugar daddy. He’s hanging on by a thread but it’s getting thinner and thinner.

Mickey lays down on the four-poster bed staring at the canopy above him. He sits up when he hears Ian coming, suddenly feeling too naked and pulling the sheets up.

“I made you some soup and had them bring up some ginger ale,” Ian explains, setting a tray down on the bed. “Figured you’d want to eat something, but you don’t have to…I just thought—“

“Thanks,” Mickey says. Ian is rambling and obviously nervous. He looks worried and confused, but also like maybe he knows what Mickey is thinking. There’s something else there too, but he ignores it. He was hungry and the soup smells amazing. “Where’d you learn to cook?”

Ian smiles a little, watching Mickey blow on it before slurping it into his mouth. He scratches at his neck and looks down at the bed. “In my house, if you didn’t learn you didn’t eat.”

And it surprises Mickey, but it also makes him angry. Ian suddenly wants to dole out little nuggets about himself like gold to be traded or exchanged. If he gives a little more now, the rest doesn’t matter? No. Wrong. Mickey’s been waiting for so long to hear Ian just tell him anything about himself that this tiny tidbit feels like a bolder meant to crush him. He keeps eating and Ian adds more weight like it’s so easy for him after all this time.

“The fancy stuff I learned taking some master classes with Gordon Ramsey at his house.” He has the nerve to laugh like this is a typical anecdote people tell. As cool as it sounds, it also sounds really pretentious and the fact Ian thought Mickey would find it interesting bugs him. He keeps eating, not even giving a nod like he’s listening. Ian catches on quick and it’s silent except for the spoon hitting the bowl.

Ian finally sighs. “Mick…Mickey, what’s going on?”

Mickey can’t look at him. He keeps scraping at the bottom of the bowl until he can’t gather any more liquid unless he tips it. He sips at the ginger ale and prays Ian just leaves, but they’re past that now.

“Mickey?”

“Nothing. I’m fine.” Mickey still won’t look.

“That’s not what I mean…” Ian pushes, and when Mickey still won’t answer he says, “Baby”

Mickey breaks, lifting his head and looking Ian straight in his eyes. “Don’t.”

Ian looks shocked and taken aback, then angry. “Don’t what, Mickey? Just talk to me!”

“What do you want me to say, Ian?” Mickey shouts back, moving the tray away and getting out of the bed. “Huh?”

Ian stands too and shrugs, looking at a loss for a moment. “I don’t know…anything. Are we okay?” He’s not loud and mad anymore, just sad and pleading.

Mickey doesn’t know how to answer because he doesn’t know. Are they? Can they be okay after this?

Ian steps closer to Mickey and Mickey doesn’t move away; can’t make his feet move but also doesn’t want to. “Did…did something happen? Did Kenny say something?”

Mickey tenses up at his name, giving himself away in the process. He looks up at Ian and can see on his face that he’s scared of what his ex might have said. It makes Mickey’s heart sinks because there was probably loads Kenny could’ve told him, but he managed to land on the one thing to hurt him the most. And he honestly believes it wasn’t intentional, now that he’s not in the moment anymore. Kenny looked as hurt as he felt and he thinks maybe they could’ve been friends.

“What did he say, Mickey?” Ian sounds desperate to know, like he needs someone to blame for the situation they’re currently in.

Mickey thumbs the corner of his mouth and folds his arms around himself. He wants to drop this whole thing. He wants to sleep. He wants to start all over. He wants to go home.  
“Said you’re the same…that you were the same with him and…and you didn’t…,” Mickey struggles to find the words, to bring it all up again hurts his head and he just wants it to stop.

Ian deflates, looking defeated and caught. “You heard us talking.”

Mickey closes his eyes, rubbing at them before they can produce tears. “Even if I hadn’t…would you have even said anything, or just let me keep wasting my time?”

Ian’s eyes go wide. “Wasting your time? Mickey, what are you saying?”

Mickey sighs heavily, looking down at the floor. He shakes his head. He doesn’t want to do this.

“I don’t want to do this,” he voices it, hating that he already feels the weight lifting.

“Do..do what? What are you…what are you talking about, Mickey? What are you saying?” Ian stammers, trying to catch Mickey’s eyes. “Just talk to me! Please! What do you mean?”

“I mean, I can’t…I don’t want to…be…I need some time, Ian, alright?” Mickey says. It’s the truth. He needs to think and he can’t do that here in the penthouse, on the west coast, with Ian right there looking at him like how he is now.

But then there’s a shift. Ian nods to himself like he’s already got something in his mind. He licks his lips slowly and, fuck, Mickey wants to kiss him.

“Is this about Gio?” He asks so quietly, Mickey almost misses it.

“What? How do you—“

Ian takes Mickey’s phone out of his pocket and hands it to him.

“You went through my phone?”

Ian looks a little hurt by that and Mickey feels bad for a second that he would even accuse him of that. “No. You left it in the car. But he’s been calling since we got back, so who is he?”

Mickey sniffs and looks away. “He’s a friend.”

Ian hums, nodding. “A friend. Right, okay.”

“He’s got a wife, okay? It’s not like that.” Mickey knows where Ian is going with this and he knows if he tells the whole truth it’ll look worse.

“I used to date married men,” Ian says flippantly, and it’s yet another thing he’s thrown out like it’s normal; like it wouldn’t hurt Mickey to hear more about his past lovers.

“We work together! Alright? Happy now? We’re not fucking, he’s my superior at the theater I work at,” Mickey admits. The fact he’s been hiding it this whole time feels even stupider now that Ian is looking at him with disbelieving expression.

“Why wouldn’t you just tell me that?”

Mickey shrugs, sitting back down on the bed. “Didn’t think you’d like it. Wasn’t part of our original agreement. Had it since you gave me the credit card.”

Ian sits next to him and puts his head in his hands. “Why would you lie to me, Mickey?”

And this was what Mickey had feared. Ian couldn’t love him because Mickey wasn’t good enough. He wasn’t trustworthy or loyal or boyfriend material. So Ian didn’t share himself fully, didn’t get too invested, and now Mickey had given him the proof that he was right to keep his distance.

“If you’d let me know anything about you, I wouldn’t have had to,” Mickey tries, and it falls just short of pathetic. It’s no excuse. He knew this would happen, but for some reason he let himself believe that it wouldn’t matter if Ian really loved him.

They look at each other for a long time, but don’t say anything else that night. Eventually the whole trip catches up to them and they’re both exhausted. They leave tomorrow, so they go to sleep right there in the same bed because they both know what’s coming in the morning. Mickey curls onto his side and Ian gets undressed and turns out the lights. He slides under the covers and presses against Mickey’s back. Mickey leans back against him, allowing his warmth and scent to drown him before he saves himself. It’s bittersweet, but they do it anyway.

Mickey wakes first and brushes a hand through Ian’s hair. It’s soft and sticks out everywhere and Mickey just wants to stay. He watches him sleep until he stirs, looking perfect and beautiful and sad. They lay there for a while, side by side, trying to figure out how to say what comes next. It gets closer and closer to the time they have to check out, so Mickey decides not talking was what got them into this mess.

He takes a breath and speaks to the top of the bed. “I think we should take some time…away from each other.”

Ian is quiet for a long time. Mickey can almost hear his brain working a mile a minute, but he doesn’t let any of his thoughts out. He was a fucking open book with word vomit the night before, but now he’s got nothing for Mickey. Instead he swallows a lump in his throat.

“Whatever you want, Mickey.”

That’s that.

Mickey takes one more look at the ocean and the city, as they take off. Ian sleeps on the plane, or pretends to for most of the ride. Mickey shoots off a text to Mandy. He reads some magazines until he comes across a small article about Ian’s company and realizes he only knows it is because of the logo. It’s in fucking French, though. The only joy he gets out of that is knowing Ian’s French is terrible. Then he hates himself more for already being that ex and they haven’t even flown past the Midwest yet. Even Eva notices the huge difference in them from before. She gives Mickey a sympathetic look and says something to Ian in whatever language she speaks. She looks disappointed, but carries on anyway. In a way, she reminds Mickey of his mom and that’s more shit he never told Ian about. They both stare out their respective windows, as they land back in Chicago. Kevin is waiting for them with a smile that quickly fades when he sees their faces. It sucks major balls, but not as much as when Glen greets them and he immediately knows something is wrong.

Ian shuts himself in his office, barely looking at them. Mickey sighs and tries to give Glen a smile but it’s weak. He can’t even think of any more famous tv butlers. Instead Glen helps him gather the few things he’s left around and put them in his shitty backpack. It doesn’t take long and then Glen is patting his shoulder before leaving him outside Ian’s office door. He knocks but doesn’t hear an answer so he opens the door. It’s dark except for the lamp on the desk. Ian’s in his chair looking over papers. And it’s so familiar and comforting that Mickey almost wants to sit in his lap and watch like he used to. Instead he enters and clears his throat. Ian freezes like he didn’t hear him come in. He wipes at his face and nose quickly, then moves more papers around.

“You need something…?” Ian says, swallowing down the ‘baby’. He looks up at Mickey with red eyes.

“Just…wanted to…” he’s awkward with his movements and doesn’t know how to do all this. So he walks forward and puts the credit card on the desk, sliding the thick metal forward. Ian’s eyes shift to it and he has to look away. Next he pulls out the phone Ian gave him and tries to set that down too, but Ian shakes his head.

“Keep it. Keep them both, Mickey. They were gifts, I gave them to you.”

Mickey shakes his head and backs away, feeling the tears start. He doesn’t want to be there when they do. “Ian, I can’t…I—“

“Please!” Ian begs, coming around the desk and putting them both in Mickey’s hands, letting his hands linger there. His eyes look so green and glossy. “Please,” he whispers, voice cracking.

Mickey nods, accepting them but not yet pulling his hands away. But he has to, because Ian is still giving him the wrong things. He steps back out of reach and sighs when Ian doesn’t follow.

“Goodbye, Ian.”

He doesn’t wait, he doesn’t hesitate. He leaves and doesn’t turn back. He walks home and is glad it’s still his, still shitty like he left it. Only when he searches the cabinets does he remember he’s out of food, so he orders Chinese and pays with his own money. He hasn’t opened his wallet since he left and he feels ashamed at what he was becoming. He sits on his futon and eats, realizing there’s an odd smell coming from somewhere, but he’s too out of it to really care. He drinks the only beer he has left and is glad for something that isn’t pink and bubbly. Cops show up to handle the domestic down the hall and it’s like he never left, except it feels even worse knowing he’s got no escape now. He leans his head back but the smell gets worse so he lays down. Just before falling asleep, he remembers he never called Gio back. He dials his number and waits.

“Ay, I been calling you, man. What happened to you?” Gio answers.

Mickey rubs at his eyes, feeling bad. “I’m sorry, man. Shit just…” he doesn’t know how to tell his friend he screwed up after the perfectly solid advice he gave him, so he redirects. “What’s going on?”

Gio sighs. “It’s the theater.”

Mickey sits up, heart beating faster. He doesn’t think he can handle another thing right now. “What about it? What happened?”

There’s a pause and Mickey wants to yell at the guy. “The fuck happened, Gio?”

“There was a fire.”

A fire. A fucking fire.

“The place is old, Mickey. There was some worn-out wires, all the wood and stuff…they’re not sure how it started. It was closed when it happened, thank God,” he explains.

Yeah, thank God. Fucking, thank him. Fuck. Fuck fuck.

Mickey swallows because he knows that’s not all. It can’t be all. “Is it…did it—“

And Gio knows what he’s asking. “No, no. She’s tough…”

"But?"

"It's gonna be months before everything's fixed..."

Months. That's months worth of money up in fucking smoke. He’s been saving, but it hasn't been that long. He was counting on this job. He liked this job. So basically he was fucked on all fronts now. He had no one, and now in a couple weeks he'd have nothing.

"I'm sorry, Mick. At least you've got Ian, right?"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise you guys this is the worst of it, which means it can only go up from here. I'm really determined to finish this before I go back to school in two weeks, so keep commenting to motivate me!  
> Thanks so much for reading, I really never expected this story to take off like this


	12. Incoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey uncovers more than just a few things about himself, and he tries to deal with them by hammering his way through the wreckage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little bit of gross stuff in this chapter lol

"You what?!" Mandy shouted, eyes wide in disbelief that quickly turns to confusion, maybe even denial that she heard right.

Mickey sighs, and almost gags on the stench that's gotten worse over the days. He thinks he's close to figuring out what and where it's coming from, but maybe he's in denial too. Of course, he's updated his sister on more than just his relationship status, but that's the only part she registered. She's looking at him now like she wants a full explanation or for Mickey to start laughing and call her a dumb cunt for being so gullible. But it's not a joke. This is his life now; no boyfriend, no job, no prospects for either, and pretty soon nowhere to live. He looks at the wall behind his futon to avoid her staring at him. He almost wishes she would go back to gushing over the not-so-conspicuous Bugatti parked outside. It's another thing he's had to constantly worry about since it arrived. He's thrown a shitty-enough cover over it to make it seem like a hunk of junk, but he's scared too many people already know what's under it. Selling it hasn't crossed his mind, though. Not once. It makes him think of Ian and that scares him too. He's woken up twice in tears wanting to call him, and other times wanting to never hear his name again. Because that's how this works for him. It's good for a while, but sooner or later he just ends up with another name he can't say out loud or talk about.

"Still need a barback at the bar?" He tries, but she's not having it.

"Mickey, I don't understand. Last time I talked to you, you were on cloud nine, happy as a clam."

"What?"

"Don't change the subject. What the hell happened? You two were in love...or at least getting there, I thought..." she trails off sadly, stepping closer to Mickey. And now that she's further in the room, she makes a face and covers her nose and mouth. "Oh my God, what is that smell? It's like something--"

"Died? Yeah, not just my love life and career," Mickey jokes sarcastically, but it sounds way too resentful for his liking. He nods over to his livingroom slash bedroom. "Something got trapped in the wall. My guess is about a week ago."

Mandy cocks an eyebrow and barely takes her hand away from her face to talk. "Something?"

Mickey shrugs. "Could be a rat, could be my heart..."

Mandy's shoulders drop and her disgusted expressions turns to pity. "Mick--"

"Don't, okay? I'll be fine. I always am." Even saying it doesn't make him believe it any more. The truth is, this feels a lot like last time and he wasn't fine then either. Until he was, or maybe he just learned to cope. Part of him knows that's why he ever considered becoming a...a... He looks down at the floor and watches an ant carrying the full weight of a crumb with no problem. He won't go hungry. He's got a hole he calls home. He's got a job and it's his only job til the day he dies. Mickey wishes a shoe would crush him out of his misery because right now he's being slowly cooked by a magnifying glass under the sun. He hears his sister let out a breath.

"I'll talk to Matt and see if we still need the help," she says, letting the Ian-issue go for the time being. "Jack works at the food bank, you know?"

It takes Mickey a second to remeber who Jack is, but the way Mandy keeps talking about him jogs his memory. He's the new boyfriend. He's the one that might stick. Or not. He thought Ian would stick and now he was just stuck alone.

"They're always looking to hire people," she suggests, handing him a business card.

Mickey nods. As much as the tips at the bar would be better, he knows he'd probably like it better surrounded by circumstantial drunks than social drunks. He takes the card. "Thanks." They're both quiet for a while. It starts to drizzle outside.

"How are you going to deal with this?" Mandy finally says.

And Mickey knows what she's talking about. He knows without a doubt, but he refuses to even begin that conversation right now or ever. That would mean having to actually think about everything and he doesn't want to do that at all. Not sober anyway and he's out of beer. He doesn't answer. Instead he gets up and looks around the kitchen for a hammer. When he finds it he moves to the wall, shaking off Mandy's concerned hand. He sniffs and sniffs, putting his nose close to the cracks and holes in the drywall. He searches for where it's strongest and plunges the hammer into the wall. It bursts through, sending drywall, guts and maggots spilling out of the puncture. "Fuck!"

"I'm gonna be sick!"

Mickey keeps hammering, wacking away at the wall and revealing not one rat, but a fucking family all squished and half-eaten. His stomach rolls just like it did on the yacht and he has to swallow a few times. The smell is even worse now that they're exposed and he gags thinking about them decomposing right near where he slept. They were stupid enough to think doing what they were doing would work out for them and now look at them. Look at him. "Fuck," he huffs, dropping the hammer and immediately grabbing his backpack. He stuffs a few clothes inside and Mandy hands him some socks and her apartment keys.

"I'll be home later. There's leftovers and beer in the fridge," she tells him, wrapping an arm around his shoulder and kissing his temple. "Can I take the car?" she adds with a smile, trying to tease a reaction from him.

And Mickey actually snorts, shaking his head. "Fuck off, bitch. You wish." But he kisses her back, messing up her careful curls a bit. She swats his hand away and laughs. He's thankful for her. He always has been. He watches her leave then turns back to the mess he's made. He finishes packing, stuffing the credit card and phone into the bottom of his bag out of sight but close enough to comfort him. He closes the door behind him and goes straight to his landlord's apartment. He bangs on the door and waits. He knows he's still in there. He heard him pass out and hit the floor around three, so there's no way he's up yet. So he bangs some more, loud enough to get his attention and also cause more hangover pain.

"Hey, asshole!" He yells, amused by the groan he hears inside. "No rent until you fix my wall, got it?" he bangs on the door one last time and he knows he's heard him. He doesn't have the money right now anyway.

When he gets to Mandy's apartment, which is way better than his by a long shot, he actually feels okay parking the car down the street. At least he won't have to look out the window every fifteen minutes. It's a nice enough neighborhood closer to the inner city and not too far from her job. He could be jealous because of his shit-uation, but he's just glad she got out and away enough from their past to be comfortable. He wants that for himself. At least that hasn't changed. Gio's been updating him on the progress of the theater, and he wants to see it but he can't bring himself to just yet. He throws his stuff by the couch, while his food heats up. It's meatloaf and potatoes and carrots, and he knows she didn't make it because it's fucking good. When he hears the shower, he knows Jack must be staying with her, or at least stayed the night. While he eats, he tries to come up with som sort of budget for the next couple weeks, only because he doesn't have enough money to consider months away. If his math is correct, which it usually is, he'll be able to get some food and pay a third of his rent. He's counting on the shithead at his apartment to take his sweet time, so it'll give him some more time to scrape up the rest. He still won't be anywhere near set, but it's all he can do right now until he's working again. He searches around in his bag for the food bank card but his fingers find the hard metal one instead. He pulls it out and looks at it, remembering when Ian first gave it to him. He's had so many orgasms because of this thing and what it means.

He could do it. He could just use it and not think twice. He could take it to a bunch of gay clubs, drop thousands on drinks for twinks. He knows Ian would check the statements and see. He'd think Mickey had moved on. Or maybe it would be futher proof that he just wanted the money. Or maybe Ian knew he really needed it, in which case it was out of charity and not because he felt sorry for not loving him or whatever. Mickey couldn't have that. But he couldn't go back to living on the brink of death either. He wouldn't. He slides the card along his thigh, shining its surface against the rough material and staring at Ian's signature. He could maybe buy food. Maybe. He'd think about it. He wondered what Ian was doing now.

"Uh, hey...Mickey, right?"

Mickey looked around to find Jack staring at him, dressed but hair still wet. He nodded, analyzing his chain hanging from his neck and tattoo sleeves on both arms. He looked like he could be white or maybe half. But he nodded and smiled at Mickey, putting his hand out.

"Jack. Mandy said you were coming, but you never know."

"Yeah," Mickey agreed. He seemed okay, and he didn't have the energy to do the over-protective brother routine. There was a rose inked into the back of his hand. "Good food, man."

"Thanks. Sorry about...everything," Jack says and surprisingly doesn't look judgemental or anything stpid like that.

Mickey shrugs, looking down at his empty plate.

"Shit always works itself out." It's oddly comforting along with the comfort food.

"Is there an application or something I gotta do for the food bank?" Mickey asks, not just because he wants to change the subject.

"Nah, you can come with me and talk to Lynette, though. She's the one that does the hiring. She's nice."

"Okay. What would I be doing?"

Jack walks to the kitchen and starts making a sandwich. "Depends on the day. Sometimes you'll be unloading trucks or organising the food. On Tuesdays we pack boxes and bags. Other times you'll be up front handing them out," he explains.

It doesn't sound too hard. Mickey’s used to physical labor, so no complaints there. He doesn’t mind people and if it keeps him out of jail he's down with it. Only problem is will all the work be worth his time.

"What's the pay like?" He knows it won't be the same as what he was making before, but he crosses his fingers and hopes anyway.

"Ten seventy-five at twenty hours a week if you're good at it. We get a lot of people that need the service hours more than the money, so there's not much competition," Jack laughs, taking a bite of his sandwich.

Mickey nods. He can deal with teenagers and parolees. He remembers being both. He gets lost in thought thinking about what Ian would think of his past. Perhaps he'd feel lucky he got away when he did. He silently beats himself up a little more before Jack is talking to him again.

"So, you coming?"

It feels right and the guy's not too bad, so Mickey gets up on his feet and follows him out of the apartment.

"Daammmnn," Jack draws out when they reach the car. He whistles appreciatively and pats Mickey on the shoulder. It actually makes Mickey laugh, as he watches him appraise the vehicle. Once they get in, Jack shakes his head guiltily. "Mandy’s gonna kill me if she finds out I rode in this thing first."

"Then we walked to the food bank, right?" Mickey cocks an eyebrow playfully.

Jack grins. "Right."

The whole interview takes all of five minutes, if it can be called that. Lynette is an older latina lady who seems firm but fair. She asks a couple questions, but mostly she's interested in starting him right away. Mickey signs a few papers and she hands him a shirt he plans to cut the sleeves off of the next chance he gets. He shakes her hand and thanks her for the opportunity, and he’s once again again contributing member of society. The rest of the time he spends with Jack, following him around and learning everything. It's not too complicated and he meets three other people he'll be working with. The last half of the shift, he finds himself stocking cans on shelves and it's so much like deja vu it brings a smile to his face.

He goes to sleep with a stomach full of Jack's fish tacos and enough tequila that he doesn't care he can hear him fucking his sister.

He can do this. He'll be fine.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mickey is slowly bouncing back :) keep commenting for updates...


	13. Burning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Mickey continues to get his life back on track, he can't ignore the fire licking at him from his old flame.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you if you're still reading this

Mickey moaned, pressing his face further into the sheets and gripping them tighter. He licked his lips as they parted to let out another involuntary gasp. He hadn’t felt this in so long; he missed the sensation of being so full. He could feel the beads of sweat on the back of his neck. He shivered from the puffs of warm air and wanted so badly to feel Ian lick his hot skin. He was so close to coming, he just needed to be gently pushed over the edge. The friction on his dick felt amazing and he wanted to cry because he was so glad to have Ian back. He needed to see him. He wanted to look at him as they both shot their loads. He opened his eyes and looked back, seeing nothing but the shitty patch job of his living-room wall.

He was back in his apartment, two months from discovering the rats and almost three from him and Ian splitting. He turned onto his back and looked up at the ceiling, rubbing at his face. He was scruffy but he knew it didn’t look even a quarter as good as Ian’s. He shook his head to get the images out, only to be replaced by the sex dream his brain had conjured. He shut his eyes and it got worse, so he settled for inspecting the rough spackling probably holding his apartment together. Instead of smelling Jack’s cooking, he smelled the garbage begging to be put out. He definitely wasn’t hard anymore, but he hated that he hadn’t really paid himself any attention lately. He’d shoved Ian’s toys to the back of his closet instead of shoving them where he wanted them.

He got up and checked his phone for the time, seeing that it was late in the afternoon. He was glad he was off from the food bank, even though he actually really liked working there. It kept him busy and he enjoyed the people, but he also really missed his old job. Gio had been giving him updates on the progress of the theater, and today he finally had some time to see it. He pulled on some sweats and shoes, not bothering to fix his hair before stepping out with the trash. The community bins were overflowing, so he just threw the bag on the pile; relating too much to the sad sacks of waste. He sighed, rolling his eyes at himself because when the fuck had he gotten so goddamn depressing? He looked over at the car and could practically feel it depreciating. He walked over to it and brushed a few leaves from the top and out of the wipers. It wasn’t quite fall yet, but it was threatening Chicago. He looked up at some birds chirping on the power lines, and watched as one took a crap right on the driver-side window. It splat dots of white down the door and dripped wetly down the handle.

“Get the fuck outta here!” Mickey shouted up at them, causing them to all flutter and flee from his outburst. A woman walking by shrieked and literally clutched at her fake pearls. He let out a breath and wondered why he ever stopped smoking.

After a shower and shaving, he finally left the apartment for the day. The kids were out of schools and busses whizzed by on the streets. Mickey only had to sit through a little early evening traffic before he was pulling into his spot in the back of the theater. From this side it looked fine with its old cracks and graffiti, but he couldn’t imagined what it had looked like the night of the fire. Part of him was angry because he had mentioned getting a professional inspector a long time ago, and a smaller part of him wishes he had been there to notice the beginning smoke. But mostly he just wanted things to go back to the way they were. When he stepped inside, it smelled like freshly dried paint and plywood. It was like a fucking Home Depot exploded; all of the old smell Mickey loved so much totally gone. He walked around the darkened stage, eyes roaming like he could tell where the damage had been. He jumped a bit when the doors leading to the lobby opened.

“Ay!” Gio called, walking down the center aisle with a clipboard in his hand and a pen stuck behind his ear. He nodded down towards the seats. “Wanna talk to you ‘bout something.”

When they settle in, they’re quiet for a while, as they take in everything. Gio sighs and looks over at Mickey, patting his leg.

“It’s different, huh?”

Mickey nods, shrugging.

“Yeah,” his friend agrees, then surprises Mickey. “Missed you, man.”

Mickey furrows his brow and lets out a nervous laugh. “You’ve seen me. The fuck you mean?”

“Yeah, but…you’re different.”

Mickey sighs. “Don’t, man. I got enough on my plate.”

Gio shrugs, letting it go for a moment. “Wanted to ask what you would do when it’s finished.”

Mickey stares at him blankly. “What, like a grand re-opening or some shit?”

“Got any ideas?”

“Why are you asking me?”

“Lance is out. I’m manager now, which makes you…assistant manager?” Gio looks at him expectedly, a slight smile on his face.

Mickey thinks for a minute then grins, nodding his head. “Hell yeah, I am!”

Gio laughs, shaking his hand and bringing him in for a quick hug. “Ideally, we want this place to be packed, you know? And not just the usual geezers. We’re gonna turn this place around, Mick. I can feel it.”

Mickey falters a little, hearing that name. Ian didn’t really use it much, but he did use it. He couldn’t even remember what Ian’s voice sounded like. It shouldn’t have bothered him, but it did. And even though it was impossible for someone to change their face without plastic surgery, Mickey wondered if Ian looked any different. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, he was different. He didn’t want to hear it from his best friend because that would make it even truer. Mandy had started to notice too, so he was glad his wall was fixed and he could get away from her. But it hadn’t mattered. The dreams had begun soon after and he hadn’t had a good night’s sleep since.

But this was good news. Things were looking up and he shouldn’t be fucking thinking about his…about Ian or the past. A possible future was within reach again, and he finally felt a little whole again. There was one condition, though.

“I want to stay on with the food bank,” he said, not asking permission.

Gio nodded. “Of course, man. I gotta get down there sometime. See how you’re revolutionizing the place,” he teased.

Mickey laughed, glad he had his friend and now business partner. Thinking about keeping both jobs gave him an idea, but for now he was just happy things were changing for the better. So happy, apparently, that he found himself sitting at the bar where his sister worked celebrating with a shot. He swallowed it down and the burn made his throat feel raw and hot, but it was good.

“I always liked Gio,” Mandy commented, pouring him another.

Mickey downed it easily and pointed at his empty beer bottle. “Yeah your skank ass did, until you found out he was married. Hey!” She’d threatened to withhold his second beer, but he reached for it with grabby hands. She rolled her eyes, not hiding her knowing smile very well. “What?”

She shrugged, beginning to unload the small steam washer behind the bar. “Haven’t seen you like this in a while.”

“Drunk?” Mickey practically giggled, although he was barely even buzzed yet.

“I don’t know. Not happy, but close.”

That sobered him a bit and suddenly his soggy coaster looked very interesting. “Not everybody needs to be attached to someone to feel accomplished.” And he hadn’t quite meant how it sounded, but there was no telling his sister that.

“I like my job and I love Jack. So what?” She slammed a cup down a little harder than necessary.

Mickey raised an eyebrow, desperately clinging to the new bit of information. “You love him?”

And it was instant, the way her face lit up and she got all red and bashful. It reminded him of what he looked like in the many mirrors in Ian’s penthouse. It made the alcohol churn in his stomach. He missed that fucking place. He missed Kevin and Glen. Fuck, even Mr. Blairs would be a sight for sore eyes.

“Fuck off. I like how he smells,” she shrugged, tucking a loose hair behind her ear and wiping down the bar top. “I just mean, it’s okay to have both, Mickey. It’s okay to want both.”

Mickey didn’t answer. He drank his beer and watched her move around and interact with regulars. She was smiling and genuine, as she went about her tasks. That was how he felt working at the theater and now the food bank. It wasn’t easy shit, but he liked it. And when Mandy came to visit Jack for lunch or because he forgot his phone charger, he couldn’t help but feel sort of jealous. It seemed they were making it work, so why couldn’t it have been the same for he and Ian?

“I’ll be done in five,” Mandy said, dumping her stuff in front of him and taking away his bottles and glasses. “How are you paying for this?”

“Paying?” That broke him out of his spiraling thoughts.

She looked back at him, but her fingers were still pressing buttons on the computer calculating his tab. “Yeah, asshole. I only said the first shot was on me.”

Mickey sighed, keeping his profanities to himself, as he reached in his pocket. He was about to pull out his wallet when his fingers brushed the familiar edge of the credit card. If it’d been a snake, it would have totally fucked him up. He glanced up at his sister’s turned back, contemplating easing the sudden burn he felt to spend. But a few drinks would hardly be noticeable, not that he wanted Ian to notice. Would Ian notice though? The fact is, it’d been on his mind for a while, especially when it would have been too easy to just swipe and swipe until it was sharp enough to kill someone. He thumbed over the familiar raised letters and numbers, and felt a familiar hotness in his gut. It could’ve been the booze, but it was also remembering what it felt like when Ian spent loads on him…literally and sexually. He felt his face go red and he looked around to see if anyone had noticed him fiddling in his pocket like some sicko. He hadn’t touched the phone except to throw it in his underwear drawer, but he’d be lying if he didn’t want to test it just to see who would answer. He wanted to tell the stupid redhead about his new jobs so he could make a bad joke about changing positions. He ducked his head in case anyone saw his slight smile. He sighed then, pulling out a crumpled twenty and tossing it down. As Mandy got his change, some drunk idiot decided to stumble to the bathroom, knocking her stuff onto the floor.

“Hey! Watch it, asshole!” Mickey yelled after him, bending to gather it up. As he turned her purse up, a magazine fell out and splat onto the floor. The cover with a half-naked Chris Whoever was hardly anything Mickey would look twice at, but it was the small print that made him stop. It boasted of an exclusive interview with one hot, young, millionaire philanthropist, Ian Gallagher on page seventeen. He stood up slowly, absently dumping his sister’s things back onto the bar, as he tried to wrap his head around suddenly remembering that the guy he used to date was still a very important person. Just because Mickey had been trying very poorly to forget him, didn’t mean the rest of the world would. Of course Ian was still being Ian, even without Mickey in the picture, and it kind of hurt. The only reason he hadn’t gone completely off the edge was because part of him assumed Ian’s life would change too. But apparently the fucker was moving on swimmingly enough to tell the masses about it.

“I’ll, uh, meet you in the car,” he said, curling the magazine up and stuffing it in his back pocket under his shirt. He quickly walked out of the bar before Mandy could say anything. When he collapsed into the driver seat, he had to close his eyes and breathe for a minute just to get up the courage to open the damn thing. He took his time, dragging out turning each page of meaningless Hollywood crap until he got to sixteen and couldn’t avoid it anymore. He bit the bullet and was immediately rewarded with pictures of his ex-sugar daddy. Of course, there wouldn’t be anything in this article about the fact he was into that sort of thing, let alone anything about Mickey. No, knowing Ian, he was very charming and well-spoken. He’d answer the questions and only disclose enough to barely hint at his true personality.

Mickey couldn’t take his eyes off the pictures, never mind the words. There was a close-up shot of Ian looking towards camera. Obviously there’d been editing and airbrushing, but it was definitely him in shiny matte finish. Another was of him in a designer suit posing on some terrace in a foreign country. The one of him in a tight t-shirt and pair of jeans stepping out of a little green Lamborghini made Mickey’s dick twitch. But it was the ones set in the familiar office of his penthouse that made Mickey swallow down his growing hurt and sadness. Ian was sitting behind his desk looking towards the window; his jawline in shadow. It was all very impressive even without reading any of it, but Mickey found himself skimming through it. It was the same shit they always ask, answering the who, what, how, and why. The rest was mostly filler and fluff that most people wouldn’t bother to finish, but Mickey kept on; picking out words until his eyes were bulging.

And then there was the question of Ian’s love life and what he was looking for in a partner. Ian, predictably, joked that he usually looked at networking and resume for a business partner. People would eat it up and read it as genuine charisma, but Mickey knew too well that Ian was dodging. But the interviewer must have been seasoned because he pushed further, probing for more to give the people what they really wanted: a feeling like they had an actual chance. It was basic reporting, but effective. However, what he or she managed to pull from Ian seemed to be willingly given because it was the first bit Mickey read that actually sounded like the real Ian. He could feel the emotion coming through, as Ian confessed that he had been dating a man and that it had regrettably ended due to his inability to be anything but a business man.

 _“Now is this a different someone than Kenneth Yeun, or do you plan to get back together after spending his birthday on his yacht?”_ The interviewer skewers him with the damning question so that he has no choice but to confirm something. It makes Mickey’s blood boil that Ian was clearly set up, but it also makes him sick to think of he and Kenny being a more interesting scoop than Ian and him. They’d certainly been seen out before, but some thug with tattoos wouldn’t make the news. No one cares about the celebrities with “normies” for partners.

Mickey wants to stop reading. He wants to throw the magazine under the seat and hope Mandy never asks about it. His eyes find Ian’s picture and it’s like he’s looking right at him; staring at him and daring him to stop being a coward and get on with it. He has to laugh because this is so fucking stupid. He looks out the window and sees his sister chatting with the bouncer, so he doesn’t have much time. He forces himself to continue the interview, skimming through more of Ian’s practiced deflecting. But it’s the last little blurb that makes him read slower like before. Ian finally reaches down deep and admits he regrets messing up with his latest partner, and wishes he could fix it. It’s honest, if not a bit sappy, and it hits Mickey in the same place he’s been hurting for months. He actually rubs his chest, as though the ache is real enough to cause him physical pain. But he also feels cheated. Here Ian is telling a stranger how he feels, when he should be telling him. And if he’d been open with him in the first place, they wouldn’t be in this mess. The interviewer says something about Yeun giving his blessing, completely fumbling the gem Ian’s just given him, but Mickey’s done with it. He tosses the magazine aside just as Mandy hops in the car with an exhausted smile.

“Chinese and Netflix?” she suggests, settling in as Mickey peels out into traffic.

And as good as that sounds, there’s something Mickey wants to do more at the moment. He doesn’t answer, as he turns in the opposite direction of Mandy’s place.

“Um, are you drunk? Where are we going?” It’s a funny question coming from her, since she’s been serving him alcohol for the past two hours. But he still keeps quiet as he drives, intent on getting to their destination. “Mick?” Mandy leans forward and looks at the side of his face. She immediately senses something has shifted his mood since the bar and quickly starts deducing what it might be. She spots the magazine and immediately knows he’s seen the article. “Is this about that stupid interview?”

Mickey doesn’t know how to answer that. Is this sudden need to spend money that isn’t his because of what he read in some shitty entertainment magazine? Okay, yes, maybe a little. He bites his lip and looks over at his sister briefly. He knows that she knows exactly what this is about, and he hates how in-tune they are to each other. He settles for just shrugging, as he pulls into the parking lot of a furniture store that’s surprisingly still open at this time of night. He parks and gets out, Mandy trailing after him with a concerned look on her face. He’s so glad that she knows by now to keep her mouth shut until he gets this out of his system. He walks up to the first man in a cheap suit he spots, ignoring the way his eyes first flash with panic then unease.

“You got any beds?”

“B-beds?” The man repeats like he’s never heard the word before in his line of work.

“Yeah, fucking beds, man. You sleep on’em. Ring a bell?” Mickey nearly barks. He sighs, knowing he’s getting all worked up and that it’s because of Ian. He takes a breath and tries again a little nicer because he doesn’t want Susan in dining sets to call the cops. “I’m looking to get a—to buy a bed…please.”

Another beat passes before the man nods and moves to show them to the bedroom stuff. “We’ve got mahogany, cedar, this one has a metal frame, and this headboard was imported from a little town in Italy where—“

“I just want something simple, okay? None of that extra bullshit, alright? What’s that one?” Mickey points to one in the corner with a dark finish. The headboard has shelves and a small cubby with a sliding cover.

“That is one of our more modern queens with—“

“I’ll take it,” Mickey cuts him off again. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the metal card that’s been taunting him for weeks. He hands it over like it’s nothing, feeling a spark of power as he does so. He’s not used to being on the other side of it, and it feels a bit odd, but he can deal with it if it keeps his mind off of how upset he is. It was a bogus article, but if all Ian needed was to be asked what’s going on in his head then clearly Mickey wasn’t enough. He feels like his ears are burning now that he knows Ian has been talking about him instead of to him. “I want it delivered tonight,” he adds, not worrying about the extra charges. He wants Ian to feel what he’s been feeling. He wants Ian to know that he knows.

The next place they go, Mickey walks out with two sets of a hundred-count cotton sheets in Midnight Blue at eight hundred each. At first Mandy protests, begging him to just stop and talk, but after a while she gets into it, helping him pick out new pots and pans for the kitchen. By the time Mickey’s finished, he knows for sure he’s racked up thousands of dollars. Part of him is surprised the card hasn’t been cut off, but part of him knows Ian must have told the bank not to. He buys enough food to fill his fridge and cabinets for a while, and a table to eat on. The last thing he rings up is the Chinese for he and Mandy, and some booze to drown all of it down.

When Mickey finally gets home, his bed is waiting for him and he’s never been so happy to enter his shit-hole of a home. It’s pushed against the wall where his futon had been and it covers the evidence of the rats perfectly. After he puts everything away, he tackles putting the sheets on the giant mattress; more than twice stopping himself from just saying ‘fuck it’ and collapsing on top. When he’s done, though, he has no qualms about messing up the pretty good job he’s done, and promptly swims over to the middle. It definitely stands out in his small place next to the cracks and crap, but it’s so comfortable he could cry. But it’s the fact it reminds him of Ian’s bed that has his eyes stinging. He closes his eyes to stop the tears and let’s himself sink into the foam technology the guy had blabbed about. Just before he feels himself wanting to pass out, he takes the heavily-used credit card and places it inside the small cubby above his head. He gets up and finds Ian’s phone in his drawer and puts it in there too after turning it on. He shuts them both away and it helps him start to drift until the headboard begins to rumble.

Mickey turns over at first, thinking it’s just the train, but…there it is again. It’s loud but also muffled, and keeps going for a bit. Finally Mickey sits up and shoves the cubby door open, frantically picking up the phone that had been lying dead like his heart for so long. He presses the button and puts it up to his ear, not sure what he’s going to hear but knowing what he wants to hear.

“Hey,” the voice on the other end says quietly.

And as much as Mickey doesn’t want to after everything, he feels himself let out a breath of relief and smile at Ian’s voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm an awful person that's also terrible, so please don't expect the next chapter any faster...although I'll try really really hard.


	14. Petty Penny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey’s not sure what to think or do when he suddenly finds himself in Ian’s expensive shoes. He quickly learns that with great power comes great imports, but is it enough?

Mickey doesn’t speak for a long while, it feels, but it's probably only seconds until he feels his mouth move.

"Hey," he says down the phone, because he's not completely sure he isn't dreaming. It feels like he’s laying on clouds and he’s going to kick himself later when he doesn't have the will to leave his bed in the mornings.

And also because what do you say to your sugar daddy, whom you were mad at for not calling for months so you ran up a bill that probably wasn't even one percent of his total worth in order to make him notice just so he would call and now he's calling?

Mickey’s head swims just trying to untangle the mess that has become his life since Ian walked into it, or was it Mickey who walked into Ian’s? He's so confused, it takes him a moment to realize Ian isn’t even speaking English. It takes him another second to realize Ian’s not talking to him, completely oblivious to the mindfuckery Mickey was experiencing.

"Where are you?" He asks when Ian's done talking to whoever, because he can’t help but still be a good boy around him. He sits up and looks at the time on his new coffeemaker.

"Helsinki," Ian answers, as though that were the most casual destination to be in. Like fucking Hawaii or Maryland. He sips something and swallows, the image of his Adams apple bobbing in his throat clear as day to Mickey on the other side of the world.

"You speak Finnish?" Because of course Ian does. Why not? Mickey was going to die. This man was going to kill him. He was deceased already and floating up to heaven on a two thousand dollar mattress.

"My Swedish is better, I've been told," Ian says in a way only he could make not sound like the most cocky brag, even though Mickey could most certainly hear the cocky half-grin on his face. "What are you doing?"

Mickey puts his arm behind his head, laying back against too many pillows. His mind is running wild with what Ian was possibly doing in Finland on a weekday. "I'm in bed."

"Comfortable enough for you?"

Ah. Here it is. The reason he's calling. The only reason, Mickey wasn’t so sure. The amusement in Ian’s voice was throwing him off. He closed his eyes.

"Yes," he bites his lip.

"Good."

He doesn't know what this is. He hates this. This is what he'd wanted. Right? Charge all his hurt to the one place Ian would look, let him know what it feels like to not have control...to not know the full story unless it was on fucking page seventeen. He’s suddenly angry that once again Ian is giving him what he wants without giving him what he  _wants._

"Keeping tabs on me now?" Mickey sounds so desperate for it to be a little bit true, instead of challenging.

"I never stopped. Not really...I tried, but..." Ian trails off at the good part again. Article over. Full stop.

And yet it's a tiny morsel of what Mickey’s been needing. Just like his little emotional shopping spree had made a small dent, maybe Ian was doing the same. Mickey couldn't be mad at that. He wasn’t.

Ian wasn’t mad either, it seemed. Not that Mickey was sorry for his purchases. It had made him feel better in a way. It almost felt like he was being rewarded, especially when Ian speaks again.

"Want to do some real damage?"

A simple enough question, but what the hell did it even mean?

"What?"

But someone is calling for Ian and that's all Mickey can deduce from the language being spoken.

"I have to go. I'm sorry, Mickey. I'll have the car get you tomorrow," Ian says to him in English. 

Mickey begins to panic. It's been so long without Ian that he can't bare to think of another stretch of time left alone with his heart in pieces again. What if he wasted his only chance to really talk to Ian before he completely disappears again only to show up on another cover at a newsstand?

"Will I hear from you again?" He asks, that desperation still clinging to his voice. No amount of threads or pillows would comfort him if the answer was no.

"I promise,"

Mickey hears it. Before Ian hangs up.  _Baby._

Mickey doesn’t know what he expects when he sees the familiar black truck pull up in the morning just as Ian said it would. For some completely stupid reason he let’s his mind run with the idea the redhead himself will be inside it. He’s been up and ready for hours now, Ian’s phone in his hand and his credit card tucked in his pocket as usual. He locks up and heads out wearing worn jeans and a hoodie he’s had since he was a teenager. It’s not Kevin who opens the door for him and it’s definitely not Ian sitting in the backseat, but he’s not totally disappointed with who is.

“Miss me?” Glen greets him nonchalantly, only the hint of a smile at his lips.

Mickey can’t help the grin that takes over his face at the sight of the man. It’s crazy how much he really has missed him and he has to stop himself from hugging him. Instead he easily settles right back into their routine as though things haven’t changed at all because Ian is the center of both their world’s.

“Only if you missed me, Tin-man,” he teases.

Glen rolls his eyes, sniffing at the name. “Is that the best you could come up with?”

Mickey buckles himself in, as they drive off in the direction of who fucking knows where. “I’m rusty,” he answers without thinking. They stare at each other for a full minute, challenging the other to crack first. In the end they both concede, looking out their respective windows as they head towards the city. There’s so much Mickey wants to ask him, like where in the world is Ian Gallagher, but would that be fair? He wishes he would call and explain what he meant by real damage. He wants him to call just because he wants to hear his voice. He didn’t get enough of it the night before and he went to bed wanting more for the rest of the night. Ian did that to him, still after all that time apart. He still wants him.

But if a day with Glen was all he was getting, he was going to take full advantage. Whatever that meant.

The answer became clear when they pulled to a stop right outside Marc Jacobs. It didn’t take long to understand that this entire day had been orchestrated by the millionaire who didn’t know the meaning of subtlety. Mickey was greeted and smiled at and sir’ed like he was Ian himself, although in their eyes he might as well have been. Anyone who held Ian’s money in their possession with his expressed permission was deemed worthy to shop where he shopped. It was all very overwhelming and Mickey had a quarter of a mind to refuse the over the top treatment. But the rest of him had no problem accepting not being immediately thrown out for the way he looked. He would’ve robbed a place like this blind if it had been his style, but today it was and he had the funds at his disposal. It sucked that Ian wouldn’t be joining them, and Mickey regretted never taking him up on his shopping trips, but at least he would get to experience a day in Ian’s life. The fun parts, anyway.

The morning continued just the same as they hit up Burberry, Calvin Klein and Hugo Boss. Mickey makes it a point to treat everyone the way he sees Ian treat them, and buys at least one or two things at each. It starts to become sort of fun to see where Ian gets his clothes from and his style. He even finds himself pointing out things he knows Ian has already, although most of it is one of a kind. He starts to wonder just how much Ian has actually bought and how much he’s given just for the publicity. It’s ridiculous to think of the people with most of the world’s means to buy something being given it for free. By the time they get through Gucci, Dolce&Gabana and Bulgari it’s a little more than disillusioning. Mickey doesn’t even know where he’d wear any of it without making himself a target. He still doesn’t know how the Bugatti has stayed on his street, but showing up with a truckload of designer bags will definitely get him noticed. He’s already had to intentionally make his rent late a few times just to throw his landlord off the scent of Christian Dior cologn.

It’s too much. He has to sit down for a while in the hybrid Versace and Armani showroom. Even the couch was made from imported material. The more exclusive and foreign the designer, the less actual price tags he saw. He didn’t know how Ian did it. Walking around in Valentino loafers was hard. There were so many decisions, none of which pertaining to affordability, that Mickey wasn’t used to making. Glen wasn’t much help, having done this plenty of times before. It wasn’t that Mickey was ungrateful or complaining, but there just wasn’t a fucking handbook on how to act rich when you really, really…really weren’t.

“Can I get you anything else, Mr. Milkovich?” A young man asked him, setting down a glass bottle of water that definitely wasn’t some Perrier swill.

“You can call me Mickey, for starters,” Mickey chugged half the bottle, wishing it was a beer.

The twink dressed in all black sort of blushed, chuckling slightly. He was tall and really skinny; baby-face cute. He wasn’t quite Mickey’s type but maybe he was Ian’s? He didn’t know. His nametag said Henri.

“You’ve never done this before have you?” Henri asks, taking a seat on an ottoman and crossing his legs.

“What fucking gave it away? When I asked how old Versace was, or when I didn’t know my Italian size?” The guy openly laughs and Mickey has to give him props for not looking down at him for his language and cluelessness.

Henri shrugs, “You just have to pick what you like and get it.”

Mickey snorted. “That easy, huh?”

He nods, smiling. It’s flirtatious, but in a charming way.

Mickey sighs, “Guess I’m just thinking too much.” A fucking understatement, but he didn’t need to tell this guy. He looked pretty well adjusted in his surroundings, but his advice seemed to come from a genuine place.

“Sometimes it’s more fun to shop for other people. That’s Ian’s thing, anyway, right?”

Mickey looked him in his brown eyes, finally noticing the gleam in them. He seemed enchanted by the very mention of Ian. How is that fair? How is it this kid knows something like that, when Mickey doesn’t even know how to pretend for a day? Then he’s leaning into Mickey, that irreverent shine in his eyes.

“What’s he like? Like, really like? I mean, I’ve only met him a couple times, the first time at fashion week, and obviously he’s amazing. He's done so much good for so many people, but who is he, you know? If you don’t mind me asking,” Henri drops all this and it just hangs between them like the weight of a real genuine Rolex.

“Uh…he’s…he—” Amazing? Yes, definitely, but the way he's heard people talk about Ian makes him sound more like Jesus than a frequent donator. Why had he never asked Ian what he does? What was wrong with him?

“I’m sorry. I get it. Privacy and all that. I just wondered, is all. He’s like my hero,” he rambles, blushing like he really meant to say crush. “You must mean a lot to him, though.” This he says like he greatly respects and hates Mickey for his position next to his idol. He understands but also doesn’t understand how it’s so, something he and Mickey share. And still everyone but him can tell how Ian feels.

Henri gives him a smile before leaving, taking his empty water with him.

Now more than ever Mickey wishes Ian would call.

Glen treats them to lunch at some fancy pizza place that has caviar and gold flakes as topping options. Mickey bets they make it taste horrible and jokes about it until they’re both laughing. It eases his mind a little, though it doesn’t do much for his heart. He wants desperately to talk to Ian with words not spending. Cartier, Fendi, Prada and Chanel don’t mean a fucking thing when he can’t even tell anyone who Ian is as a person. Everyone knows he’s sweet and kind and smart and charismatic and sexy and aloof, but there isn’t a thing Mickey could say that’s different except for how frustrating it was to be madly and unapologetically in love with the man.

Mandy and Jack and Gio would love the things he bought them, but where did he go for Ian’s unbidden love? What store? What department? How much would he spend?

When it becomes apparent that he’d rather eat fish eggs than step foot in another showroom with people waiting on Ian through him, and that no more bags can fit in the truck, Mickey is finally taken home for the night. Spaghettios and Jack Daniels have never tasted so good after the day he’s had. There’s no space to put any of the new stuff, so it sits on the floor by his bed. Mandy berates him for not inviting her along, but shuts up when he mentions a Givenchy dress in her size. It makes him smile for a moment at her excitement. He knows Gio will get a kick out of the cufflinks and socks, so he’s happy about that.

But then he’s lying in his bed in the dark, wondering when it stopped being about the money for him. Granted, there were moments during the day where getting to be in Ian’s place, with his power, gave him such a hard on. And when he thinks about the freedom to choose without worrying like Henri said, fuck! It was a rush that quickly turned into a headache. So maybe it hasn’t stopped being about Ian’s bank account, but it’s become more about Ian. But he’s so locked up tight like a vault, Mickey wants to know what the key is. He likes the money, but he loves Ian in control of it. He loves Ian. So much. So fucking much. But how? Why?

His head is swimming when the phone rings, he almost misses it.

“Ian?” As if anyone else would be calling on their special phone. He doesn’t know what to think anymore.

“Forgive me, Mickey. I meant to call sooner. How was your day? Did you have fun?” Ian sounds how Mickey feels, minus the inner turmoil probably. He yawns. A car honks.

Mickey turns on his side, ignoring his steadily hardening dick. He hums because if he opens his mouth now, he might moan or scream.

“I’m glad. Wish I could’ve been there,” he sounds sad here, like he did that night in his office. Mickey wants to ask why he wasn’t, but Ian continues.

“I want to see you.”

Mickey’s breath catches in his throat and he has to palm himself under the covers. He closes his eyes and licks his lips. “You do?”

“Very much so, Mickey…open your door.”

Mickey’s eyes fling open and he sits up, pulling his hand from his boxers. He feels dizzy and hot, his chest heaving from how fast his heart is beating. He goes to the window and sees a black car. He practically runs to the door but doesn’t open it yet. He doesn’t know why but he’s frozen. He wants Ian so bad. He’s so scared of the man he’ll see.

“Mickey?” Ian says into the phone.

Mickey reaches for the door and yanks it open.

It’s the driver from earlier. It’s not Ian. Again.

The man is holding a black suit bag with Canali scrawled across it. He hands it to Mickey and nods before leaving. Mickey wants to slam the door but he doesn’t have it in him to be upset at this cryptic bullshit Ian is pulling. He’d been a stroke away from blowing a load at the thought of seeing Ian. The last thing he wanted was another designer label to soothe the aching loneliness raging inside of him. He was done with luxury retail therapy.

“What the fuck is this?” He doesn’t hide how he feels right now.

“There’s a thing in New York,” Ian begins, at least sounding sorry for the bait and switch he pulled.

“A thing?”

Ian chuckles. “Some big fancy gala,”

Mickey hangs the bag up on his bathroom door and unzips it. Inside is a black tuxedo with all the attachments. He pulls it out and the light bounces and shines on the subtle embroidery on the jacket and the silk accents along the collar and pockets. It looks fitted but what the hell does Mickey know? His work vest is nothing like this by miles. The pants are black, the shirt is black, the tie is skinny and silk and black. Ian didn’t just pick this up at Macy’s or Neiman Marcus. It screams custom tailoring; a special rush order made harder by not seeing who it’ll go on in person. Mickey ran his fingers along the soft fabric, truly taking in how much Ian must have put down. Ian is quiet, letting him appreciate the magnitude of the gesture. Mickey can feel his erection coming back in full force even before he sees the socks and shoes included. He swallows, unable to take his eyes away from his prize for making it through the day. He smells it and swears he catches Ian’s scent.

“Ian,” he whines. He can’t help himself.

“I want you to come in this.”

Ian hangs up and Mickey falls to his knees, shaking and groaning.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's looking like three more chapters and perhaps an epilogue. ...maybe, idk, ya'll tell me
> 
> Also, what's your favorite designer brand?
> 
> P.S. comments that don't say "update" make me update faster


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